A Lifetime
by TheSpriteOfJayum
Summary: A genius and an immigrant cross paths one day. Little will they know of what will happen during their lifetime. Dr C/OC, some Invisible Man/OC, maybe some Link/OC.
1. Hatfield

**This has been on my mind for more than a year, and I wanted to finish "The Incredible Chase" before I started it. I'm just starting school and am planning to start college next April, so it's going to be an unpredictable uploading.**

**Like some MvA fanfic writers, I've decided to make the attempt to write about Dr. C's past. Unlike most stories of this type, this story will begin about ten years before his freak accident. But like most, he had a special someone. It will also go beyond his capture and the monsters' release. Not WAY, but quite a while beyond 2009, so it's gonna be a pretty long story. Now, I have three things for you to do: Read, enjoy, and review. **

**And without further ado, A Lifetime...**

September 30, 1951

She eyed the vintage style grandfather clock to her left with a pair of soft brown eyes and read the time. Eight-thirty. Only fifteen more minutes. She poked at the grilled tomatoes from her breakfast plate a couple more times before stopping. She didn't recall one bit of having grilled tomatoes for breakfast during her old life in America. Maybe on an occasion or two when she was little and couldn't remember.

You see, born and raised in the American Pennsylvania town of New Hope, Charlotte Campbell wasn't exactly the stereotypical British adolescent girl she wished she could have been. Her father, Herb, was a retired successful American businessman. Her mother, Jane, moved from England as a teenager with her family shortly after World War One. With her husband's help shortly after the end of World War Two, Jane helped her parents move back to their recovering home country.

About five years later, a month after Charlotte's eighteenth birthday, her grandfather passed away, and Jane wanted to return to England to take care of her widowed mother. So about three weeks later, Charlotte and her parents moved to her Jane's childhood home of Hatfield. Herb had retired from the world of business managing and saved up for quite a while for his daughter's college tuition. But not to worry; not too long after the big move, he found a not so heavy job as a British wedding coordinator's assistant.

For Charlotte and Herb, England was all-together very strange. Talk about culture shock. While the language was the same as back at home, a lot of things were different. She had lived here for three months already but still felt like a stranger. These many differences between her and the people who lived here seemed to isolate her from being normal. Despite this, she grew fond of Hatfield and the surrounding towns in the county of Hertfordshire. She thought the area to be quaint and cozy, yet she missed her life back in New Hope. And perfect timing, too, as she hoped to start college soon.

"Charlotte, love," Her mother called from upstairs, "You don't want to be late for you and your father's little holiday, so do hurry." Even if she lived in the States a good part of her life, her mother never lost her British accent.

"Alright, Mum." Charlotte called back, brushing back a few locks of her sandy blonde wavy hair. She looked at those tomatoes again and lightly poked at one again with her fork. "Disgusting." She mumbled.

Even though it had been six years since World War Two ended, England had still been rationing. It wasn't as bad as during the war but they still had to be careful. She smirked at her plate and eyed the food with great hatred. Seriously, what were two wasted tomato slices going to do to humanity? When she was sure no one would see the crime, she scraped the red fruit into the garbage. For her new diet in England, at least the tea was decent. She sipped the last bit of the liquid and followed her father to the front door.

"So, how's the English way of life for you, Lottie?" Her dad asked later on as he started the somewhat new car and drove through the streets of Hatfield. Charlotte was very thankful her dad was an American so she wouldn't have to be alone.

"It's okay, I guess." She looked down at her feet and then looked up at the road, "Dad, other side." And she was also thankful her mom was British so she and her dad wouldn't have to die of culture shock.

"Oh, you're right." He giggled as he adjusted, "Ready for college Monday?"

"I'm not so sure." Yes, she was all packed for a stay at a college dormitory, but she felt as unready as if she didn't pack a thing.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry you had such a sudden change of plans for your future."

"It's alright, Dad. It's just kind of hard to believe not from here only a few years ago that cities were bombed by the Germans."

"Oh, the Blitz, huh? And I think we've figured out that close yet far from here is where Joseph died."

"That's true. We'd better not tell Mum that. I think she's already aware of that entirely."

During World War Two, Her twenty-one-year-old brother Joseph quit his job as a waiter in an ice cream parlor and was sent out to fight in the war. In the spring of 1943, he was shot and killed in battle in Italy. Charlotte remembered coming home from school only a couple of weeks before her tenth birthday to find her parents sitting on the family sofa. Her father looked up from holding her weeping mother.

_"What's wrong?" A young, confused Charlotte asked him._

_The grimacing man shook his head and returned to stroking his wife's blonde hair. "There, there, Jane. I know."_

_Charlotte picked up the telegram and noticed a gold star now hanging in the window. She gasped and read the telegram's message. At the same moment of reading "killed in action", she dropped the paper and walked off to her room. She sat slowly on her bed and in the process of comprehending her brother's death cried herself to sleep. She wouldn't receive another word from her parents. Not at dinner because they didn't have one. Not at bedtime. Not for the rest of the day._

She sighed before her father could continue. Sometimes, she missed him so much. All three of them did.

"Well, for one thing, Lottie, a lot of people who lived in England at that time lost a lot of their most prized possessions and sadly even loved ones during the bombing. It's just like us Americans when we lost loved ones overseas. Hmm...tell you what, if you ever meet any friends in college, maybe you can help them with the depressions from the war."

"Alrightie, Dad, will do." The father and daughter pulled up in their driveway after about ten minutes. They stepped inside the kitchen and thank goodness those nasty tomatoes were gone.

"Herb!" Her mother called, holding up a napkin with dirty familiar fruit in it, "Did you scrape these lovely tomatoes into the garbage? You couldn't have." Her dad raised an eyebrow and looked down at Charlotte. The eighteen-year-old slightly widened her eyes and remembered that her father almost always ate whatever was set before him.

"Charlotte, remember what we talked about rationing?" Jane began.

Charlotte sighed.

She hated rationing.


	2. Watford

The same day, about the same time...

In his room, a young man attempted to pack up the last of his belongings for college. He wasn't planning staying at a dormitory like some of his friends but at an old friend's house in the area of the University of Northampton, which both boys were attending. He graduated from high school two years ago but was forced to wait until his family could afford two college bills.

The young man's name was Jeffrey, an avid student who graduated from high school two years ago. From the time he was a boy, he adored and understood the different fields of science, from entomology to electronics.

His older sister, Mildred, was also in school to earn either a bachelor's or master's degree in dance according to their father's wishes. The Hawkinsons had a long line of masters and some prodigies in performing arts and very few intellectuals. She had been dancing since she was eight. Throughout those years, Jeffrey had been annoyed at seeing his sister frolicking around the house like a fairytale princess. He was determined to be a scientist of sorts, a physicist most likely.

His father really didn't think a scientist was a worthwhile occupation so he encouraged his only son to get a similar degree to Mildred's. He was impressed alright; he just felt like Jeffrey should do it upon the honor of being a Hawkinson. His mother, however, was fascinated in the facts he liked to learn about. She loved how he read aloud facts, showed various formulas he worked on or invented, and explained his blueprints and inventions. She was the main reason he never gave up on his scientific passion. The young intellectual willingly and finally felt happy with the deal when seeing a type of dance different from his sister's at a performance last Christmas.

_Let's see..._He thought, _Extra socks, check. My formula notebook, check. Address book, check. Emergency money, also check. Calculus notes,..._ A slight rustling from his desk he heard interrupted his mental checklist. He turned around to see a girl with glasses and shoulder-length brunette hair carelessly looking through his blueprints.

"Amelia! Don't touch that!" He snapped at his sister. His sister, not a two-year-old but rather a twelve-year-old, shrugged back.

"What's to be upset about, Jeff?" She asked, studying one of her brother's blueprints and wrinkling a nose at it like it was a picture painted by a three-year-old, "You're not going to be here to use them."

"Of course, I know that well. But do you know how long I spent working on those?"

"Not as long as Edison worked on the light bulb." She smirked, remembering his science talk for as long as she could remember, "Or the Curies finding pollen-ium, whatever that element's name is."

"Pol-onium, Amelia. Think Poland."

"What does Poland have to do with that?"

"That's when you read and find out." He smiled slyly and returned his double-checking. The bespectacled tween set down the paper and stuck her tongue out at him.

A young woman stepped into the room. She wore a modest blouse over a black leotard and a grey pencil skirt, and her dishwater blond hair was pulled back into a bun. She patted Amelia on the shoulder and leaned over the young man's shoulder.

"Jeff, you need anything?" She asked.

"No, Mildred. I'm fine." He replied. Mildred wondered over to her sister to watch the series of blueprints being studied.

Mrs. Hawkinson, or at home known as Mum or Mary, walked into the room.

"I'm rather surprised, Jeffrey." Mrs. Hawkinson said.

"Surprised at what, Mum?" He asked chuckling.

"That you're not taking any of your science books to Harold's while you're gone. Or your blueprints."

"Well, my books I can understand bringing, but where would I have a place to tinker with my experiments?"

"Your room there." Amelia said cockily, leaving the room. "It is yours, after all."

"Yes, but not for long." Jeffrey said. "Even if was mine forever, I couldn't do that to the Weavers. Even if I don't have any chemicals that would burn holes through the floor,..." That made both mother and sister giggle. "I must focus on my studies during my stay."

"And if you find nothing else to do when you have free time?" Mrs. Hawkinson pointed out. "Harold has probably made some friends after his return."

"Then maybe I can come up with some new concepts there and bring back home to present to you like curios from a foreign country." He pulled a couple of thick hardcover books off his shelf and laid them on top of the other belongings in the footlocker.

"What if you find other friends besides Harold there?" Mildred asked.

"Well, I'm sure I'll find other associates there with my same interests."

"Or at least know what you're talking about." Amelia added after returning to the room at the mention of "associates." "How about Americans? My friend Patricia knows a couple of American families moving over here. Like the Rogerses and Browns. They were friends of the St. James family during their stay in the States."

Jeffrey laid his face in his hand. From what he had experienced with Americans, he really didn't like them much. "I...I don't know, Amelia."

"What would be really ironic then is if you fell in love with one."

"Maybe. Maybe so." He thought, _I highly doubt that! _

"Oh, I know what you could do! If you get the Ph.D. and if you're brilliant enough, you could just say 'Jeffrey Hawkinson, Ph.D.' and be part of a university's scientific research team!"

"Amelia, we don't believe in deception." Mrs. Hawkinson lightly scolded.

He pulled down the lid and snapped the two buckles shut to hold it in place. "I guess that should do it."

"So, this it?" Mildred asked.

"I believe so."

Barely anyone could believe he was leaving in less than half an hour already. Mrs. Hawkinson rustled her fingers through his shock of brunette hair and smiled, wiping a few tears away. "I hope you do splendidly in your studies." Jeffrey and his dearest mum hugged each other good-bye.

He turned to Mildred and proudly smiled at her before hugging. He admired her for being a lady he could look up to. He wasn't a child anymore, she was two years his senior, and both yet served as mediators for each other between the slight feuds courtesy of the little imp sister.

"Take care of Dad, Mum, and Mildred, will you?" He told Amelia.

"Do I have to hug you good-bye?" She asked.

"No."

"Okay, I'll take care of them."

Robert, his father, came up to the room to help him take the trunk down the stairs and into the foyer.

"Thank you, Dad." Jeffrey told his father.

Before Mr. Hawkinson could say anything, a loud beeping of a car horn made both jump. The father and son peeked out the door window. An average-height young man with auburn hair dressed in a blue sweater and black slacks crawled out of a somewhat brand new car.

"He's here." Jeffrey announced breathlessly.

" Harold has changed. See?" Mr. Hawkinson said under his breath as he put the curtain back.

"Are you sure that's him?" They heard Amelia ask.

"Of course it's him, darling," Mildred said. "I recognize him from the picture the Weavers sent us."

"Well, where is it? I haven't seen it!"

Jeffrey gulped as he reached for the door knob. He opened the door and barely got to stick his head out.

"Jeffrey? Is that you?" Asked a voice deeper than what he used to hear from Harold. Jeffrey came out, and the only thing he recognized from the young man as being Harold was the distinctive large mole to the left of a right light brown eye.

When both boys were ten, Harold's family moved from Jeffrey's hometown to the States. Jeffrey was too far away to go back to Watford after his classes and to be back at Northampton the next day, so the two agreed that he could stay with the Weaver family during their classes.

"Harold, it's been almost forever." Jeffrey replied nervously, coming out of the doorway.

"Oh my word, I don't even recognize you!" Harold ran up the small staircase and wrapped his arms around his childhood friend. "Golly, you've changed."

"Au contraire, my friend" Jeffrey said. "_You've _changed."

"And is that good or bad?"

"Well, neither."

"Good to know that. Let's get that footlocker into the trunk." Jeffrey cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "Oh, sorry 'bout that. I meant boot."

The two boys put the footlocker into the back of the car. Robert still stood by the door.

"Good luck, son." The father told Jeffrey as he shook his hand in congratulations.

"Farewell, Dad." Jeffrey said. He hopped into the passenger seat, and Harold started the car.

"Hey, Jeff!" Amelia cried, sticking her head out of the window. "Don't forget Americans! Ta ta!"

Harold drove off with a wide smile, still laughing at Amelia's farewell speech."And who was that?"

"Amelia, my younger sister." Jeffrey answered, a bit embarrassed.

"That's Amelia? I haven't seen her since she was four. Man, she hasn't changed a bit. Tell me, during the War, was Watford bombed?"

"No, thank goodness."

"That's good to know. Dad and Mum felt we lived too close to London and decided to move to America for safety."

"And how are things with your family?"

"Mum and Dad are fine and glad to be home. Emma and Christopher...hmm...Emma's thirteen and at seeing a picture of you, has developed a fancy for you." Jeffrey smiled. "Christopher's ten now and hasn't changed much over the years. Oh, I forgot Donna. When we lived in Hertford, North Carolina, Mum had a girl in 1942. Donna is eight years old. Enough of my clan, how's yours?"

"My parents are fine as well. Mildred received her associate's last summer and came home today for the weekend to say 'hello' and see me off. Amelia...well, what should I say? She's quite feisty and independent. She wants to work with the law, not so much as a constable (the family would be outraged at that) but probably a lawyer. How far are we?"

"About...um...78 kilometers."

Jeffrey leaned back in his seat, watching the road ahead of him. Harold had changed alright. Eight years in America. A lot could happen.

**I'll bet anything you all have a good idea who Jeffrey is. Any-hoo, let me know what you're thinking of it so far. Have a cookie (::) and a few bonus points if you get it right. By the way, That's about 48 miles they're driving, for all the not-so-metric savvy peoples.**


	3. First Day

Two days later...

Charlotte slowly opened and closed her eyes a few times before turning her alarm clock face toward her. She had woken up five minutes before her alarm would go off. So, far she was doing pretty good. Not that it was a once or twice in her lifetime.

She sat up and stretched out her arms and legs over the side of her bed. She reached toward the bedside table for her brush and unraveled the yellowish tangles. She looked across from her bed at her dorm mate, Allison, still in a peaceful sleep. Allison Hardy was a sweet girl, a perfect description for sidekick, with a short but thick mane of black hair and a set of green eyes. She was a little older than Charlotte and lived in southeast Lincolnshire. Despite Charlotte not being a native of England, Allison treated her like she lived here all her life.

Charlotte looked back on the day before. She was all packed. The only thing needing to be done was getting to Northampton University. Her mother had her head held up high as her father drove their daughter to her dormitory. Once they arrived and had everything settled, Charlotte and he gave each other a bittersweet farewell, most of the "bittersweet" being done by him. She hugged him and smiled while he drove off crying his eyes out.

Charlotte wandered over to her dresser with her clothes inside. She pulled out a full blue skirt that ended at her calves and a light blue blouse. The alarm went off with its sounding off, making Charlotte jump in surprise and Allison groan in complaint.

"And thank goodness I don't have to share this room with my brother. He snores like an old man." Allison mumbled sleepily. "What about your siblings?"

"No, I don't have any." Charlotte answered, pulling the skirt over her legs. "I used to."

"What happened?"

"I had a brother who was killed in the war."

"Aw, that's a pity. Lincolnshire was too far from London to have a lot of damage. We got close once with Grimsby being bombed. Other that, nothing."

Silence filled the air for about five minutes. Charlotte finished dressing with a pair of black flats and pulling her hair back with a large hairclip. Allison dragged herself to her second and third drawers to her dresser. She brought out a beige colored dress with the skirt being the same style as Charlotte's. It wasn't until after the fifth yawn, Allison was dressed. She smiled and said, "As you can see, I'm not exactly one for the mornings. Enough of that. Let's go for that porridge."

Charlotte and Allison met with the other girls in the dorm building toward the canteen, as the British put it. Courtesy of the notorious rationing, it was oats porridge and tea for breakfast. The porridge was a bit flavorless as well as the tea, but as some people learned, things could get worse. Even throughout the rainy weather and plain-as-dirt breakfast, girls laughed, talked, grumbled, gossiped, chattered, teased and even disgustingly showed off their lack of table manners. Charlotte sat in between Allison and a tall girl named Dorothy Sue. From what Charlotte saw, she very talkative and social. Across from the two blonde-headed girls sat a very quiet dainty teenager going by a name that matched her personality: Linda. Charlotte waved hello with a smile, which Linda responded with a gentle shake of her fingers. The shy blue-eyed young woman really didn't seem to be in the mood for a conversation, so Charlotte returned to choking down the tan-brown mush.

Jeffrey awoke to the droning of an alarm clock. Albeit it was very unfamiliar, not at all like the one back at home. Being disgruntled at the difference, he chose to accept it as he turned it off. He got up from his bed in the guest room and dressed himself for his first college term in a beige blouse under a brown sweater, dark brown slacks, and a pair of matching dress shoes.

After finishing, he met Harold in the hallway. Before Saturday, they haven't seen each other in years. His old friend, preparing to study the field of civil engineering, was dressed in a light blue blouse, a grey business vest, matching grey slacks, and black loafers. They stayed silent, not knowing what to say due to being separated for quite some time.

"Morning." Harold broke the ice.

"Good morning, Harold." Jeffrey smiled.

Harold's little brother and sisters ran down the stairs after them. Jeffrey, Harold, and the Weaver siblings met Mrs. Weaver in the dining room for breakfast. Jeffrey sat in the middle of the left side of the table next to Harold.

"Good day, Jeffrey." Emma greeted politely as she placed herself next to him.

"Ah, good morning, Emma." Jeffrey smiled at the bright-eyed girl. Whereas, Donna and Christopher surrounded him as if he were a million dollars.

"Are you going to show us a science exper'ment?" Donna asked. "Harold says you were awfully good at them."

"The vinegar and baking soda one!" Christopher exclaimed.

"Here it's called bicarbonate of soda." Emma corrected, hoping to give a good impression.

"Give the chap some time." Mrs. Weaver reasoned while she brought in cheese on toast. "He's going to college with Harold today."

"Maybe when I come home." Jeffrey told them.

"Yay!" The children cheered.

"You two gentlemen have no time to dawdle." Mrs. Weaver told Jeffrey and Harold strictly but gently. "Do try to be on your way as soon as possible. Not that you need to rush in eating." She swept a piece of toast with a fried egg onto each plate and smiled. "Just a nice treat for the first day." The two boys finished up with a cup of tea to wash their breakfast down. The three younger children stood outside the house as Jeffrey and Harold took off, jumping up and down waving good-bye.

Charlotte and Allison walked down the hall in a clutter of students towards their dance class. Both girls were excited yet nervous.

"How well do you know Professor Hemingway?" Charlotte asked Allison.

"I don't know." Allison shrugged. "He was a close neighbor of my cousin in Rutland. He used to scare me when I was little."

Charlotte smiled and chuckled. Allison smiled and waved at a few students she recognized and acquainted with throughout her life. With Charlotte at her side, she reunited and chatted with her friends as well as introduced the American immigrant. The reactions indeed varied, and Charlotte just smiled and said a few words with all-star Yankee greeting, "Hi."

A robust man in a business suit made his way through the herd of the adolescents and unlocked the class door. He had a balding head of auburn hair and a slightly bushy mustache to go with it. "It's the Professor." Allison whispered. "He hasn't changed much." As soon as he entered the class and took his stand, about two dozen young people ecstatically stampeded into the classroom.

Some students were fired up for the next lesson. Some students were exhausted from the exercises in preparing for the dancing. Jeffrey was quite pleased with the lessons and left Professor Hemingway impressed. Allison was quite fired up and enthusiastic about the whole dancing sensation. Charlotte walked out of the classroom with her hyper dorm mate, feeling overwhelmed.

"Tally-ho, dear." Allison greeted breathlessly. "How was it?"

"Everything was rather strange." Charlotte sighed with a blank expression on her face.

"How?"

"Backwards. It all was odd. Like dyslexia."

"Well, dear, you don't seem to be dyslexic."

"I'm not. I'll tell you later."

For the young Brit, the first day of school was pretty exhilarating. While waiting under the shelter of one of the buildings for his friend to come out of his classes, he laughed to himself. Amongst all the young men and women in there, there was a good variety, like all the countries of the world put together on the map of the planet Earth. You had the dead hoofers who would get their toes or your toes stepped on, the average students who were not good yet not bad, and the occasional prodigy that automatically became the teacher's pet.

"There you are!" Harold called out after walking past two buildings. "You ready?"

Jeffrey nodded his head. The two boys began their trek to the car.

"How'd class go?"

"Alright, I suppose. I believe I did well."

"For sure, Jeff. Look where you're coming from: a family of dance."

"Yes, but there are some even better than I am."

"What really?"

"It's all about coordination, Harold. Amelia might be a high-spirited girl with a thing for sports yet she finds it hard to hike up a hill."

"Nice example. Wanna pick out any dead hoofers?"

"Not now. I could definitely see the Americans in class. Let's see...a girl named Mary, who has an awful knack for bubble gum…Charlotte…Jack Kendall, not a bad-looking fellow, and...Jenny Brown."

"What is it with you and Americans?"

"Nothing."

After finding the car and Harold turning it on to go home, Jeffrey sat still, thinking about his experience with Americans. He remembered going to Texas to visit some distant relatives when he was six. Amelia was just a few weeks old, and Mildred was eight. He got engaged into a Halloween tradition called trick-or-treating by his two cousins. While going alone, he was confronted by three American boys, who took his candy away and stuffed him in a garbage can. It was more than just the Halloween incident. When Americans came in acquaintance with the Hawkinsons later on in life, they were rather brash and rude. He may have been considered an adult now but he would have to see about the new foreigners he had to share the dance classes with.

**Sorry it took some time to get this chapter up. I want to be as accurate as I possibly can for this story, and you all know how hard that is. And yes, I get the same "dyslexia" Charlotte has. **


	4. Deanette of Deception

"You're only left-handed, Charlotte," Allison reasoned. "Not dyslexic." Both girls were back in the dorm room and having a bit of free time before dinner.

"Well, in a way, yes. It is." Charlotte corrected. "You know when you write backwards and hold it up to a mirror, it looks perfect. Let's see...raise your hand." Allison raised her right hand as Charlotte raised her left.

"It does work like a mirror." Allison whispered. Charlotte smirked. "I also noticed you said little when I introduced you to my friends."

"Sorry about that." Charlotte looked down at her shoes. "I have the tendencies to be shy when I'm in a new environment."

"No, no, no, dear. That's fine. Some acquaintances I've made had the problem with turning red when they try to talk."

"And I haven't turned red, right?"

Allison laughed. "No, thank goodness."

Out of nowhere, Allison's eyes shot open and sparkled, looking as if they had turned a brighter color. The native British girl smiled widely and snapped her fingers. "Now there's an idea."

"What is it?" Charlotte asked.

"You're an American in an ocean of Brits, dear. And along with other Americans, you're going to stand out. I don't know if it's going to be harder finding someone to help you with your dancing. No offense, I'm just concerned."

"What about you? Have you even tried helping a left-hander?"

"My little brother's left-handed. When I tried to teach him a few dance steps in his direction, it didn't turn out well. Swollen bruised toes..." She sighed. "I'm sorry, Charlotte."

"Don't be sorry at all."

"Before I say any more, I was thinking of Jack Kendall. He's doing pretty well, but I don't want to get your...you know, American-ess, shown to the world. I don't know. Maybe if you-"

"Do what?" Charlotte interrupted before sarcastically putting on a British accent. "That I put on the role of a British girl because I've been so silent? And step up to some gentleman and say, 'Good day, my fine colleague. Could you please help me with my dancing?'" Allison froze.

"Charlotte, that was perfect! How did you do it?" Charlotte smiled sinisterly and continued her accent.

"I don't believe you know that my mum is a native of Hatfield, Hertfordshire, and moved to Pennsylvania shortly after the First World War. As being her daughter, I've the experience."

" But...that would be living a lie."

Charlotte returned to her normal American accent. "Come to think of it, it would be yet it wouldn't."

"How wouldn't it be?"

"I am British as you heard. A half-truth."

"That's right...half-American by your dad; half-British by your mum."

"Elementary, my dear Allison. My point exactly."

"Wonderful. Now to find you a partner...that's it! Fitzgerald Penniman!"

"Fitzgerald. He was the one wearing the purple sweater."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

"And that grayish-brown hair."

"Ah." A smirk joined the eyebrow.

"I don't know if it's true but there are rumors that he is...you know, both right and left handed."

"Ambidextrous?"

"Yes, that's what it is. Oh, Charlotte, this is going to be brilliant! Conartist Campbell!"

The next day...

"Hopeless!" Allison exclaimed, throwing up her arms. "Just hopeless! I'm sorry, Charlotte. Truly, I am."

Charlotte sat down on the bed and took off her shoes. A nice dark purple bruise covered a third of her left big toe, and oh, lands, did it hurt. She couldn't get ice not only because of the lack of icemakers but because of the European belief that ice is bad for you. She could only recall the memories of her mother refusing ice, no matter how hot it was. Oh, and the memories of constantly getting your feet stepped on by an equally shy nerd with a stuttering problem. One thing she really remembered him whispering was that the only reason for taking dance class was to impress this one girl he went to high school with and still loved. _Poor fellow. _She thought, sadly smiling.

Poor Allison. She felt like tearing her hair out and banging a newly bald head on a door. "I think we got the wrong person." She stared at the bruised toe nail. "The good news is the accent worked. You fooled everybody." She aired out a forced chuckle, trying to cheer up the situation.

"To tell you the truth,...Allison..." Charlotte began hesitantly. "Jack and I don't know each other; we haven't even seen each other before yesterday. So it wouldn't make a difference if we danced together."

"That's the one!" Allison again snapped a finger. "He's ambidextrous. He's your savior, Lottie!"

"'Charlotte,' please," Charlotte mumbled as she bored holes through her dorm mate's head at the sound of the nickname.

"Sorry about that."

"It's fine." Allison chuckled at the irony. "Just as a warning, only my parents can call me that."

"Yes, so what's the bee's knees about Jack?"

"Well, he's ambidextrous, like I just said. He does have a way with the ladies, though. I must say, Charlotte, he reminds me a lot of your America's Superman. Looking out for the well-being of others. Being ambidextrous is a rare ability."

"Yes, he's not bad looking. He may have his bit of pride."

"I'm not trying to match make. I'm only looking out for you."

"Good, 'cause I don't want or need a lover. I do appreciate you looking out for me. Thanks. You're still happy with the British Miss Campbell?"

"I love it. It's splendid!"

Charlotte smiled on the outside as well as the inside. She loved playing whom she picked. And she was about to do it some more.

**Gotcha! I happen to be left-handed, so I deal with the cons of the "dyslexia." I do happen to know a couple ambidexters (don't know if that's word for them), that are sisters.**


	5. Heading Home

** Back on school, taking care of a sick family, going on a youth group trip, and getting sick myself. That's an explanation for being late on this. Oh, and happy belated anniversary, Dr. C! Congratulating you on 49 years of the success of your mutation enhancement. And the head. c(-:**

Sunday, December 15

The autumn term at Northampton had passed quickly. Like a rollercoaster before a dive, the first two weeks went slowly and the next ten weeks had passed by before anyone knew it. Finals were over, Christmas break was about to begin, and most everybody was heading home for the holidays.

Charlotte excelled in her dancing abilities and with help from Allison was on the verge of being an ambidextrous dancer. Professor Hemingway was happy alright at having two dancers who could dance both right and left handed. Instead of being overwhelmed and going ker-plop onto her bed after each lesson, Charlotte would be in a cheerful mood, skipping toward the dorm with Allison. However, the fun between the dorm mates would temporarily come to an end over Christmas break.

Charlotte threw the last of her belongings into the footlocker. Allison was ecstatic to get back home and had packed the night before. Not a good idea. She dug through her footlocker again for clothes to wear on the way home, throwing clothes and toiletries by her side. Also not a good idea. As soon as a decent outfit was found, she had to stuff everything plus her nightgown back into the footlocker. With a heavy sigh of relief, Allison sat on top of the lid of the locker.

"So, are your parents coming to pick you up?" Charlotte asked her.

"Mm-mm." Allison answered. "I guess it works to ride a bus if you're not that far from home. Even with the war over, cars are still a rarity. What about you?"

"I really don't know. Before I left, Dad kept on saying he'll pick me up, and Mum just told me in a letter that I'm taking a bus home."

"Wow. No wonder your dad cried while leaving. He's anxious to bring you home. And I think your mum has confidence in knowing that after about three months of being in Northampton that you know your way around."

"I think so too. I think that Dad's had enough losing one and not losing the other."

"One what?" It finally dawned on Allison that what Charlotte meant with "one" was her brother. "Oh...sorry."

"It's fine. Yeah, they should be here about noon. Or I should be at a stop at noon." She chuckled a bit. "From what it must sound like, you're probably thinking my parents don't communicate as much as they should."

While watching her American friend snap the the buckles shut, Allison sat there and grimaced. Charlotte looked up.

"Yes?" She asked teasingly, sitting on the lid of the closed footlocker.

"I was all happy to get out of this blasted dorm and see my mum and dad again, but then I realized I had forgotten about you."

Charlotte giggled. "Aw, you're too sweet, Al. It'll only be a few weeks before we're back together. If you've lived almost nineteen years without me, you can live Christmas break without me. Then again, I will miss you. You've been awesome."

"Really?"

"Really. For helping me get started in a class of dancing righties, you've been the greatest."

"Even about the bruise on your big toe?" Both girls looked down at the still slightly black-blue toe nail.

"Well, that lets us know the accent works." Charlotte slipped her socks and saddle shoes on, being a little careful with that toe. Both girls then pulled on their winter coats.

"And if it goes away?"

The girls carried the footlocker down towards the bus stop. With a sigh heaved from her lungs, Charlotte finally answered, "...Good question..."

A bus drove in Charlotte and Allison's direction. Allison sadly smiled.

"Farewell, my friend." She muttered.

"And good-bye to you." Charlotte put on her British accent. "I shall have to catch up-erm, catch you up on what happened when I see you again."

"Good-bye!"

"Ta-ta!"

"Cheerio!"

Jeffrey and Harold waved back at the husband, wife, and three kids waving outside the front door. The boys could still hear the cheery farewells as they drove off.

"We did it, Jeff," Harold let out during a dramatic sigh. Snow had lightly fallen for the past few days like decorations for a congratulations party for those who passed during the finals.

"Yes, Mildred used to tell us about how intense those finals can be." Jeffrey said. "Thing is I never believed her."

"So, your parents are picking you up at the tram shelter?"

"Mm, no. They told me a bus is taking me back to Watford."

"I think our dead hoofer American has improved." Harold noted outloud while driving home.

"Harold, stop referring to her as that." Jeffrey lightly frowned. "Miss Campbell's improved."

"Yep. With an American at her aid...her Prince Charming. They aren't bad together."

"They're only dance partners, Harold. They're from the same culture so they understand each other. It's a boost for both their well-being."

"I can see that. It's not bad for my well-being."

"What do you mean?"

"I danced with Jenny Brown a week ago."

"And...?"

"And she's a good dancer alright. She's a really nice girl and happens to have a small crush on Professor Hemingway. That's all."

"Oh," Jeffrey remained silent for the next two minutes. Something hit Harold as to why his friend was being quiet about it.

"And what's the deal about you and Americans?"

"I just haven't had a good past with them."

"Well, we'll see about that. You can't be racist forever."

"I'm not being racist. I never said I didn't like them."

"Wellll, one reason for appreciating them is that they worked with the world at getting Germany out of here. Yeah, sure, they never got involved until 1941, but still."

"I guess that's a good reason."

"Guess? If it weren't for their effort, London would probably be for the most part gone, renamed London-stein or something like that, and you'd probably be speaking German. And no offense, Jeff, I can't see you speaking German."

"Thank you. _Guten Tag. Ich bin Jeffrey Hawkinson. Was ist los?_"

"See what I mean? And since when did you take up German?"

"Well, I find something, take up an obsession, and learn what I can about it. And the cycle happens again after a while."

"Hang on, I thought most of it was science." Harold shook his head in confusion.

"Well, it is, but I find other interesting things to learn as well. When the war broke out, I took up some German until Mum found out and made me stop."

"'Cause she thought it was politically incorrect at that time? I don't blame her."

"Neither do I. I was only seven at the time, so I really didn't understand before I was told not to learn it anymore." Harold pulled up to a tram shelter and helped Jeffrey take out his footlocker.

"Hopefully I should catch you up on what will have happened." Harold said as he hugged his friend good-bye.

Jeffrey sat alone patiently. When was his bus coming? He looked down at a pocket watch. Five minutes. He whistled in exclamation. It felt like twenty minutes. Disappointed, he attempted to pass the time by humming a Christmas carol and tapping his foot to the beat.

A double-decker bus was slowing down at a nearby bus stop. He stood up in excitement, but sulked when he found out in was only for a certain area. He did however notice a female figure pulling out what looked like a footlocker similar to his and ran out to help this woman.

"Here. Let me give you a hand with that." He told her, grabbing one of the handles. Man, doing this with a lady was harder than doing it with a man.

"I think I can make this easier." The young woman said. "On the count of three: one, two, three." Alright, this was easier than before.

Jeffrey and the woman slowly but surely carried the footlocker toward the tram shelter.

"And where are you going?" Jeffrey asked through the weight of the luggage.

"Hertfordshire." She answered. "What about you?"  
>"I'm going there too. Christmas vacation."<p>

"You don't say?" The two set down the footlocker next to Jeffrey's. "That's my reason as well."

"And who might I ask helped me?"

"Hawkinson. Jeffrey Hawkinson."

"Thanks much, Jeffrey. I'm telling you; carrying a footlocker and doing it in a winter coat can really break you out in a sweat." She took off the scarf she wore as a hood against the cold and took out her blond hair.

Jeffrey's eyes widened a bit as he recognized the young woman.

The Campbell girl...


	6. At the Tram Shelter

**Yay! Our hero and heroine finally meet! Sorry I haven't updated in a while. School, baby-sitting, and a whole bunch of other crazy business has been hogging up my attention. And I'm stuck with plans and arrangements for a big event of my life (no, I'm not getting married, and my birthday's not for a while). And hopefully, I can get started up on a couple of one-shots for Area 52 Triad. Okay, enough excuses, enjoy yourselves in a new chapter, lads and lassies.**

"M-Miss Campbell?" Jeffrey stuttered a bit. Quite the unexpected turn-up on the day you go home for Christmas break. "What a surprise to see _you _here."

Charlotte blinked a few times in shock at the sound of her name. She gave him a stare that bored through his head. She stood her ground in preparation for this guy.

"How do you know me?" She asked. If this guy was a stalker, she was so onto him.

"You're in my dance class at Northampton." He explained.

She cocked an eyebrow. Okay, so maybe an insane stalker. Or maybe not with the accuracy of Northampton. Or maybe so if he was a telepathic stalker or a Sherlock Holmes type of person. _Elementary, my dear Miss Campbell._ She could imagine him saying, the detective outfit and all. She didn't want to take her chances by giving her own specificity. Yet, out of all this, she kind of recognized him.

"Okay...Professor Hemingway, right?"

"Yes. _Oswald _Hemingway, to be exact."

"Okay. Okay...I know we're in the same class. I've seen you before. Sorry about that."

"Quite alright. That I know as well." After a few seconds, something struck him. An American with a British accent? "Wait a minute, I thought you were an American."

Charlotte raised her shoulders in a shrug as if saying "whatever." "I'm British. My wardrobe plus the fact most of them have never seen me before sets ideas off. In our class I happen to be what an American might call a dead hoofer."

"No, no, no. Not at all. You may have had a bit of struggle but from what I've seen you're an excellent dancer, Miss Campbell."

"Really? Thanks much." She saw the little modest smile on his lips. "No, seriously. Thank you."

The two sat down and stayed silent. Charlotte kept a couple of feet away from this man just in case he _was _a stalker or some creepy person who, well, stalks other people. For the next twenty minutes they took turns jumping up when a bus arrived only to sit back down in disappointment when every bus was heading anywhere but Hertfordshire.

Boringly, Charlotte shivered a bit and tapped her shoes together to the one-two-three, one-two-three of the waltz she learned in class. In his mind and with his humming, Jeffrey improvised at songs to the beat of the not soft but not loud tapping of the young woman's feet. His mind was switching back and forth from a couple of romance songs he'd hear in Mildred's room to a couple of Christmas carols. He found himself snapping his fingers to that waltz beat and humming "White Christmas."

Charlotte listened intently to the muffled crooning and recognized the waltz beat. "'White Christmas,' come to think of it, has a waltz beat." She informed.

"Yes, that's what I was working on." Jeffrey said.

"I don't know if you're trying to suggest something, but if our bus isn't going to get here any time soon, would you like to practice?"

"I don't see why not." Jeffrey wrapped his arm around her back as Charlotte rested her hand on his shoulder. The two grasped hands nervously. As the two stared at each other, Jeffrey gulped. He had never danced with an American - wait! - this strange girl before. He had heard so much about her yet this was the farthest he had got with her.

Charlotte began the beat before starting the song. "And one-two-three, one-two-three. She started off with a gentle alto croon.

_IIIIII'mm dreeeaaamiiinnng of a Whiiiiiite Christmaaaaas,_

_ Just like the ooonnnnnes I used to knooooooowwwwww._

She stopped in the middle of the song as well as the waltz. "Why did you stop?" Jeffrey asked.

"I just saw a bus..." Charlotte began. He cocked an eyebrow. "That looks like it might take us home."

And indeed, a bus going to Hertfordshire finally pulled up to the bus stop. Enthusiastically, Jeffrey and Charlotte lifted up one of the lockers and steadily wandered over to the door. Passengers grumbled about the wait for the two young people getting their luggage onto the bus. Slightly intimidated by the tough crowd, they waited to talk until they found a seat. And so they did and sat down by a window on the bottom part of the double decker bus.

She laughed. "So, I know this is a little out of subject, but you're probably wondering on the whole clothes thing. I may be British, but I happen to have relatives from America that I see off and on. Hand-me-downs from them explain the wardrobe."

The hand-me-downs thing wasn't a lie. When America was rationing during the war, it was difficult to get new clothes due to the fact clothing factories were making uniforms for the army. The thing was that America's rationing ended in 1946, when Charlotte was thirteen. So she got hand-me-downs, just not as recently.

"You've quite the interest on your disposition, Miss Campbell. Well, from what I've seen. It's a wonder we haven't made each other's acquaintances."

"Let's see about that. You may have heard about me courtesy of my deadhoof-ery. I've heard about you from my dormmate, Allison Hardy, and her darling acquaintances. We've made eye contact during class, soooo...virtually, we have."

"Ah. But we've yet to complete it, Miss Campbell."

"Charlotte. Just Charlotte. Jeffrey Hawkinson, right?"

"Mm-hm. If you want specificity where in Hertforshire, I'm from Watford."

"I just moved to Hatfield about six months ago."

"That's fifteen kilometers from where I live."

"Make that fourteen and a half kilometers." Charlotte gave him a smug smirk. "I've been there before, but maybe once or twice."

Jeffrey was a litle surprised. They barely met, and yet she was already playing the wise guy. And a very clever wise guy she could be. He decided it was about time for a comeback. "And would you consider us acquaintances now?"

"Hmm..." She thought out loud hesitantly. "Yes. Nice comeback. So, outside of dancing, what else do you do?"

"Welllll, I invent things like, gadgets, and things that I believe could help mankind. And I really enjoy working with all sorts of sciences. I would've been a scientist but due to financial situations couldn't."

"Well, not a scientist with a degree. But still a scientist. As my brother told me, a scientist means one who knows. There might not be funding from the government or a university or a prestigious lab with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of equipment, but you could still be a scientist." That made Jeffrey smile. "So, what fields do you specialize in?"

"I haved enjoyed nucleonics since I was about thirteen after the two atomic bombs in Japan. And for the rest of the sciences, I find something that catches my interest, develop an obsession, learn as much as I can about it, and when I find something else, the cycle starts again."

"I know only some about nuclear physics from my brother Joseph and what he's told me. Not that he wanted to become a scientist or anything." She felt a slight pang in her heart.

"What about now? Does he still find interest in them? I don't mean to be rude but I'd like to make his acquaintance."

Charlotte looked down and shook her head. Jeffrey understood as he saw her facial expression.

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"It's fine. He's been gone since 1943, so it's been a while." She lifted up her head and shyly grinned. "He would've really liked to meet you."

"1943...that's before the bombing. So he must've liked it before that."

"Mm-hm. Especially with the works of it being done by scientists such as Henri Becquerel and Otto Hahn. He found out all about it while reading a newspaper article about Madam Curie's death."

The young genius and immigrant continued on conversations about their lives to pass the time. All the while with Charlotte keeping her past and American geneaology hidden. The bus stopped in Hatfield a while later, and Jeffrey helped her get her locker toward the stop.

"Thank you very much." Charlotte said graciously.

"You're quite welcome." Jeffrey bent down to lightly kiss a gloved hand.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, acquaintance. I'll see you again in January, Jeffrey."

"With pleasure, Charlotte. Farewell to you."


	7. The Gentle Genius vs the Brute Boyfriend

**Sorry it's been a while (thanks to dumb crazy finals). DX But I'm not that far from a few more days off such as Thanksgiving, Christmas break, oh, and my birthday (cuz it's during the weekend. Mine isn't that big of a deal). But hopefully this next term will go easy on me and I can write more frequently. Thanks for bearing with me. ;) This chap's gonna be a biggie.**

Christmas break had come and gone quickly for our genius. Despite the rationing, the Hawkinsons had a fine Christmas dinner with goods that were saved over the year. As for gifts, Jeffrey received a few books about science, philosophy, mathematics, and a notebook for more formulas. The biggest surprise for everyone was that Mildred had accepted a marriage proposal from a fellow dancer. Nathan was his name, and he worked with her at the small local theater company.

When he left, the parting wasn't as sorrowful as last time. It was good to see Harold and the Weavers again. However, the reality check-in would take some time to get used to. It was the first day back to the big part of reality as he and Harold walked down the hallway towards Professor Hemingway's classroom. A clutter of students either leaned against the walls or stood in the middle in a circle, and very few were alone. Harold lightly grabbed Jeffrey's arm and speed-walked toward his pals.

Jeffrey listened to his acquaintances' conversation with a slight attraction to its topic. It wasn't really of his taste but it did seem interesting. In a short time, he became tired of it and decided to practice his analysis skills by studying the appearances.

He recognized Mary Rogers, an American, by her distinctive shoulder-length blond hair and the habit of chewing gum and blowing bubbles. Kenneth St. James by his traditional white blouse, burgundy sweater vest, and tall height. Thomas Wood by his skinny short stature and his epically failing attempts to flirt with the girls. _Poor fellow. _Jeffrey thought. The insecure lad stood next to the bespectacled but femme fatale prodigee Bernadette Marks, who stood out not only as a strangely beautiful girl but a beautiful dancer. Jack Kendall by the horde of girls around him as he talked about the thrills of his American past. A young woman with blonde wavy hair, he analyzed, under his left arm really didn't seem to be interested any longer in the conversation. She shrugged her shoulders and slithered backwards from the embrace.

"Hey, baby!" He called as soon as he felt nothing at his side. "Where are ya headin'?"

Jeffrey couldn't hear her reply courtesy of the bustling hallway but instantly recognized the girl when she turned around. Blond hair _and _brown eyes, he took note.

She rolled her eyes and muttered something. Sometimes, a very observant person could swear he could be a jerk sometimes. _Dratted scoundrel. _She thought, her fingers digging into her palm in two fists. She sighed heavily through gritted teeth before glancing at the classmates around her. Charlotte's spirits raised as she flashed a grin and gently waved at a young man she recognized. She got away from the cluster and speed-walked towards him.

"And how are we today?" She asked him, adjusting to her secondary British accent.

"I'm doing quite fine, better than I expected." He replied.

"Adapting back to school, eh?" She guessed.

"Sounds like it." He chuckled. "How's your world?"

"Alright, I guess." She shrugged, making her resting golden locks jump. "Nothing really new."

"Sorry to hear that." He paused. "My older sister accepted a marriage proposal, which was indeed a Christmas surprise for the family."

"Well, congratulations. Since Joseph died, it's been just me for the past few years." She smiled. He didn't respond but was noticed on staring at the blond American boy at the other end of the hallway. "What?"

"Nothing." He switched back and forth from a full glare to a raised eyebrow. "It's just that...the way he's acting with all those poor girls. They surround him like candy, which as you probably know is a rarity."

Charlotte didn't want to make Jack look bad, even though he could be careless at times. "You should know that all Americans aren't bad. What about the States' President Roosevelt? He helped England during the War."

"I know that well. I...I just haven't had a good past with the ones I've met. Not against Americans in Hemingway's class at all. Even when my colleagues and I thought you were one of them. You seem too genuine to be one of them."

"Genuine? Really? Wow...Thanks." Poor girl. She had no idea what to say. An unsure smile grew on his face as he confirmed his words with a courteous nod.

"I would've said the same about the Germans," She resumed the subject. "But something changed. Shortly after the war, about a year or two, a brother and his little sister moved from Germany. They may have been from a country with wicked people living and dictating there but they were some of the sweetest people I have known."

"You don't say?"

"I _do _say."

Professor Hemingway opened his classroom door, and the students began pouring in like milk from a bottle. One could swear that a body guard team's worth of girls escorted Jack to the room. Jeffrey and Charlotte went with the flow of the crowd. Charlotte winked as she whispered, "We'll talk more later."

**True. When I used to live in an apartment when I was 7/8, one of my neighbors was an elderly lady who was a teenager in Germany during World War II. She's dead now, but hearing a smidge of her story there at that time was pretty interesting. Sad, but interesting. And yes, she was sweet. Okay, moving on...**

"Whoo!" Charlotte sighed, leaning against the wall. "Glad that's over with." She looked at a blank but wide-eyed Jeffrey. "Not that I don't like dance class." She chuckled.

"I know what you mean at times." He sympathized. "Are you doing anything later on today?"  
>"I don't know. My dormmates are having a bit of a reunion just for the sake of it. I've decided to be on my own for a while today being as I don't like being around lots of strangers as it is."<p>

"I'm sorry. I really don't have much on my hands either. The family I'm staying with is visiting some relatives for the day, and it's just me right now." Charlotte lightly raised an eyebrow. From she experienced, she thought the British were more of the "mi casa es su casa" type. "Don't worry. They gave me the option to go or stay."

"Okay, good. What were you thinking of doing? All that I can think of is out of the question."

"Well, I can't really think of anything pleasant that I can afford. I'm sorry, Charlotte."

"Let's see, I never had a dog..." Charlotte thought aloud, warm air flowing from her mouth in the cold. "I never really caught onto my brother's hobby of stamp collecting, but I have always enjoyed photography." She pulled out a picture of herself and Allison outside their dorm building. Both girls grinned widely, partly for the fun of it and being strangely hyper at the moment.

"Allison Hardy. She's a nice girl. We went to school together for about two years." Jeffrey noted, smiling. "For a long time, I've been fond of finding different ways to work with numbers. Like adding eight to a number you have. You subtract two from the first digit and then add one to the second digit."

As it turned out, the two classmates decided to take a stroll around the campus. A light layer of snow lay on the ground. "Fourteen plus eight...twenty-two...wow; you're right. Any more?"

"Let's see...to get from one square number to the next, try this. Take the square root of your first number, for an example, let's use five, the square root of twenty-five. Multiply five by two, ten, and add one, eleven. Then you add eleven to twenty five."

"Thirty-six. Smart!

"Thanks much. I figured those two out when I was somewhere in between twelve and fifteen. Right before I decided to go onto more complex mathematics." Charlotte whistled in exclamation, which made him chuckle. "With the rationing of paper, I had to learn to write small and even in the middle of the blueprints."

"Mum would've encouraged me to keep a diary to record my life, so I can see what you mean. It would've worked the day we found out about my brother's fate, but that moment's too clear in the mind of yours truly to forget. I don't know how I'll ever be able to forget." She sighed, a gloomy look on her face, and looked at him. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He spoke sympathetically. He looked into her slightly damp brown eyes with a pair of gentle blue eyes. "I can't say I've been in the situation you've been, but I am sorry."

She smiled and wiped the new little tears from her eyes. She looked at the plain wristwatch she wore. "It's getting close to dinner time, so I guess I'd better get going."

"See you tomorrow, Charlotte. I hope to catch you some soon." She may have not told the British genius this, but she believed she had never met anyone like this chap.

Too genuine. Too genuine to be one of them. The Americans, well, most of them, were a bit brash and even rude at times. According to Jeffrey's view, this bright young woman was too wonderful to be a member of this crude race. He watched her time and time again with the seemingly flighty school girls along Jack Kendall's side like chorus girls in a Broadway show. If she wasn't one of them, then why she was of the many girls clinging to this American brute? Yes, they danced together and all that jazz, but why? Jeffrey danced with a girl throughout the majority of his classes, and neither of the two had feelings for each other. As much of a genius as he was, it was pretty difficult to solve this mystery.


	8. Identity Revealed

**Now, patience, patience...this story's gonna get going once and for all. But holy, I'm cracking chapters like hotcakes.**

A year and a half had passed, and our hero and heroine were onto their associate's degrees. It was 1954 and going on three years since the Campbells' big move. The upper middle class family of parents, daughter, and maternal grandma were thriving and living a fine life together under one roof. Charlotte and Jack hung out together frequently. He was quite unpredictable at times; one minute he was there, the next he seemed to disappear.

Mildred had married well with Nathan on a May afternoon in 1952, and the couple had a simple but proud little place to call home. They were expecting a baby the same year, but the pregnancy resulted in a miscarriage. It was devastating alright, but a bouncing baby boy with his mother's hair and eyes named Cecil was born last November. "Auntie" Amelia was extremely proud of him and couldn't keep her hands off him. Every time the family would mention having children of her own, she'd frown and change the subject.

Jeffrey was still unfortunately unsure of his American associates. He and Charlotte would talk quite a bit and even have her over for dinner at the Weavers on occasions. The two became close friends as he took her under his wing for the dancing dyslexia and she took him under hers on some of the sciences he and her brother shared in common. But he wasn't exactly a boyfriend...yet.

Yes, the two may have been friends, but that certain ambidextrous, dashing American ladies' man still caught the attention of the American-British girl. The two foreigners were close alright. Close enough to share secrets and such.

Jack and Charlotte leaned against the hallway wall after class had been dismissed. Jack slapped his hands together as if having a success just recently. "How are we today, Lottie?" He asked.

Charlotte glared daggers at him. "It's 'Charlotte.'" She snapped.

"Well, excuse me, baby." Jack reacted. "I didn't mean to set off alarms."

"I know that. And I'm very well, thank you." She replied stiffly as she wandered away from him. This hadn't been the first time she corrected him on this. She hoped it would be the last time but she doubted it.

A girl across from her by the door, named Barbara McGrath, cried bitterly on the shoulder on one of her close friends, Dorothy Sue Bauer. Now Barbara had the tendencies to be emotional at times, but Charlotte couldn't help but notice.

"What happened?" Dorothy Sue asked.

"J-Jack Kendall..." The grieving girl muttered.

"Oh..." Another sympathetic girl. "I know..." She looked at Jack with slit-shaped eyes.

"So, after waiting all this time, I'd say we..." Jack's voice dropped to a whisper unexpectedly, which made her jump.

Charlotte eyes shot open in shock. He could be a jerk at times, but this, after all this time, it was so obvious. _Lottie, you idiot!_ She scolded herself as her fist hit on her forehead. She turned to her boyfriend.

"Look, baby, don't go beating yourself up." His reaction to the blow of her fist seemed to not be there. "I know. I thought it was awkward at first." He reached to press his lips onto hers.

"Get back!" She shrieked, pushing herself away from him. Who could give a hoot if she was in a crowded hallway of people? She pushed herself away from him. "You mean after all this time, after all this fair-weather dating with girl after girl, you really think I want to go steady?"

"A kiss is what every couple wants, baby."

"Well, some couples don't. At least not _this _half of _this_ couple. I know too well now why you'd ditch me and then come back. You can't take these incredibly wonderful, beautiful girls for granted as a bunch of ditzy air-headed bimbos 'cause they aren't! You may be an ambide-whatever... smooth-talking blond-haired, blue-eyed dream boat who's a master of calling girls 'baby', but that's not gonna work." Jack stared at her in surprise as if he had never had a girl tell him off.

"I don't want you anymore, Jack. I've been a ditzy air-headed girl myself for wanting to be with a sick-minded playboy like you. We're through!"

Jeffrey stood in the hallway, his mouth lightly open. Not to say this girl was bipolar, but he found out she could be a tough rough one if one flipped the switch on her. Yet he was proud of her for stepping out of the ladylike standards of a British girl and telling him off. He grinned proudly at her as she stormed off towards him.

"So, you think running off to your nerd man is gonna take care of your troubles?" Jack hissed at her, ticked off by his defeat. He raised his voice. "Just wait 'til he finds out you're an American!"

Charlotte froze, eyes wide, chin to the floor, and all. After all this time, that jerk had been generous enough to hide her identity until now. She turned around to face Jack. His smug look and arms proudly crossed broadly represented his pleasure for revenge. "It's true." He said smartly under his breath.

Jeffrey stared wide-eyed at the American girl. Yeah, people lie a lot, but this? This? After all this time of being friends, she had been hiding this? They may have not been boyfriend and girlfriend, but it still shook him. During his times at home, he expressed to his family about how wonderful this girl was. Not that he wanted her as his bride in the near future, but it was close yet far.

"Charlotte?" He called under his breath. The defeated Charlotte lifted her eyes to the gawking gentleman. "Y-you can't be one of them. He's lying, isn't he?" She remained silent. "Isn't he?"

She gulped. "No..." He sighed with relief and was about to hold an arms around her. "...and yes..." The last words froze him like liquid nitrogen.

"I don't understand. How is it 'no and yes'?" He stared at Charlotte as she hyperventilated, her hands resting on her bent knees.

"I am British...but only half-British..." He raised an eyebrow and looked at her as if he was about to run away. "My mum is British..." She began with her usual British accent. She finally finished with an equally perfect American accent. "...my dad's an American." He could only stare, disgusted and surprised. It was like the moment when Erik in Phantom of the Opera took off his mask. He shook his head and seemed to mutter "no" before he abruptly turned around and walked away.

"Jeffrey, please listen!" She speed-walked to follow him. "I was I wouldn't get around with me being a left-handed dead hoofer American. I may have twisted the truth with my nationalities but I never lied about anything else. Not at all. Jeffrey, please!" She touched his arm. In the timing of a snap of a finger, he turned around.

"I trusted you. I believed you deserved a lot more than that Kendall boy or what he had for you. I cared about you. Almost more than what I've cared about my other friends. I trusted you as one of them. You hoodwinked me into believing you were someone else. I _was _wrong. Again, I was wrong to yield to an American. And you...you're just like them.

"Farewell,...Miss Campbell."


	9. Unsure Expectations

Charlotte sat up, eyes wide and hyperventilating like a train engine, the sheets flying off her shoulders.

"What in the-" Allyson yawned, moaning. She moaned again when she looked at the time. "What?"

"Okay...thank God...it was just a dream...phew..." Charlotte whispered through deep breaths.

"Relax, Charlotte. You're gonna give yourself a heart attack. Now, tell me what happened in the subconscience."

"Welllll...as it turned out, Jack Kendall turned out to be a playboy who bamboozled a bunch of the girls in class. I told him off when he wanted to do 'it' with me. Then he blurted out in front of everybody that I was an American. The worst was Jeff was there."

Allyson didn't seem to listen until 'it' was mentioned. "'It?'...ohhhh...and who's Jeff?"

"Jeffrey Hawkinson."

"Okay. Sorry, I'm trying to stay awake but I'm listening. Well, you're going on your Bachelor of Arts next June, so that's three and a half years of keeping up the secret. By the way, what is it between you and that chap? Ever since I've known him, he's been cute and handsome but really akward. I mean, reaallly akward."

"We met at some old tram shelter three years ago while heading home for Christmas."

"And...?"

"He's a very charming person. And sweet. You'd like him. Thing is he's not very fond of Americans."

"Does he know you're one?"

"No, but he was furious in the dream."

"I take it that it'll be a shocker for him if he finds out."

"Yeah, that's for sure."

"What about Mistah Kendall?"

Charlotte thought and shrugged. "He's alright, I guess. He's lots of fun though. He's the only person in class that knows I'm American. By the way, how'd you get so awake all of a sudden?"

"I don't know. Now that you've mentioned 'awake,' I'm tired again."

"Okay, sweet dreams."

"Ironically, you too."

"Jack! Jack, wait up!" Charlotte called down the hallway, speedwalking after her classmate. He stopped and turned around. He looked at her as if he was about to flash his hotshot grin. He cocked an eyebrow and walked off to another girl calling him. She clenched her fists and loudly sighed in frustration. This may have not been the first time, but still. However, another girl was calling her.

"Barbara?" She stated the girl's name. "Hey!"

"Charlotte! Hello! Perfect timing!" A girl with a thick head of red hair and bright eyes chimed. "You're going home this weekend, right?"

"Just for some time with my parents." Charlotte replied, smiling unsure. "Why?"

"I'm hosting a party the Friday after this weekend." Barbara beamed. "I think Allyson...you know Allyson Hardy, right?"

Charlotte nodded. "Mm-hm. She's my dormmate."

"Really? Oh, where was I...ah, yes! I think I heard her say that you have quite the music collection at home. I'm not meaning to be a mooch...but...do you think that I could borrow some for that night?"

"Don't worry about being a mooch, darling. I'm sure I can find some things. I know I have a few records at home."

"Jeffrey!" Emma called. "You've got company." She finished in a sing-song tone. With the look in her eyes, everyone in the Weaver household could tell she still liked him.

Jeffrey looked up from a blueprint on an electric pencil sharpener he was working on. Nervously, he straightened his blouse and trotted down the staircase. He held his breath as he opened the door.

"Surprise!" A familiar voice exclaimed. Unexpectedly, the laughing voice's body jumped on him in a hug. Jeffrey stumbled back a bit in surprise before the body got off of his.

"Amelia?" Jeffrey looked at the person.

"Who else would I be?" She asked, shrugging.

"No one in particular. But I should say you get prettier every time I see you."

"Thanks much but please don't say that."

"Alright. Sorry. What are you doing here?"

"I rode the bus from Watford." She beamed proudly.

"All by yourself? Amelia, you're only sixteen! And a girl as-"

"Give me a break, Jeff. I'm not _that _much of a dare devil. Mum or Dad wouldn't take me here tonight, and Mildred's busy taking care of -"

"So Mildred had her baby, and-."

"It's a boy named Andrew. Andrew Robert Poole, to be exact. And for one thing, I wasn't finished yet!"

"If Dad, Mum, or Mildred wouldn't take you, then why are you here?"

"From what I've heard from my friends, Lillian and Samantha, there's a party at the McGrath's house tonight, and I'm somewhat invited."

Jeffrey chuckled. "And I thought you were dropping by to say 'tally-ho.'"

"Jeff, only the gracious elegant people do that. Pigs will fly in a hell frozen over when I'm one of them."

"I guess you're here for me to give you a ride...we'll see..."

"What?" She followed him into the house. "Jeff! Please!" She begged, her throat sore. "My throat is..." He searched through the closet for a dress coat. "Aren't you even listening?"

"Yes," He smiled, chuckling.

"What's so funny?"

"I may or may not go tonight."

"Really?" She started jumping lightly off her toes.

"You'll see."

Jeffrey and Amelia sat in a bus in the middle of a moderate rain. Amelia tapped her foot impatiently whereas Jeffrey tapped his to a tune the bus driver was whistling. "So," He began out of the blue. "I'm dropping you off at the McGrath's home and I'm picking you up at ten-thirty, hm?"

"Yes. I've already told you." She said annoyed.

"I just wanted what I heard to be confirmed, that's all. I don't want you standing out in the rain for an hour."

"I can wait an hour; I like rain. Just don't pick me up early."

"Alright." He escorted her in.

"What are you doing?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"Escorting you." She still looked a bit disgusted. "Just making sure you're fine with all this."

"What do you think?" She rolled her eyes.

"Wellll..."

"Wait a minute; you're probably right. Edward said he's not sure about coming tonight, so come in with me so my reputation doesn't go downhill."

**Gotcha! (and got me too XD) About last chapter, I thought it was too soon to do something like that to Jeff and Charlotte's relationship, which explains me not updating it sooner. I was too lazy to rewrite chapters, so I took another course to this story.**


	10. When I Fall in Love

"A few?" Barbara shrieked at Charlotte's armful of records. It "By Jove! What do you have?"

"Let me think..." Charlotte pondered. "Andrew Sisters, Glenn Miller, Perry Como-"

"Perfect!"

"Barb! Barbara!" A distant young voice called.

"Hi, Amelia!" Barbara greeted as she hugged the sixteen-year-old. "Just so you know, Clara's here."

"And Edward, right?"

"I think so." The red-head turned to Charlotte. "Charlotte, I don't think you've met Amelia."

"Amelia...Hawkinson?" Charlotte guessed.

"Mm-hm." Amelia confirmed.

"I haven't met you yet but I heard quite a bit of her from your brother Jeffrey, one of my classmates. Nice to meet you, Amelia. I would shake your hand but I guess that's out of the question right now."

"Cool! You're the girl Jeff keeps talking about! You're quite the rage at home!" Amelia cried. "Well, I've got some socializing to do, so ta-ta!" And with that, she took off like a hawk for its prey. Charlotte and Barbara each hid a laugh about the brief conversation with the girl.

"I think I'll be going," Charlotte said turning around. "It was-"

"No! Wait!" Barbara halted as she grabbed the American's arm. "Quite a few people I invited couldn't make it tonight. So, could you stay and...um..."

"Fill in the shoes of someone absent and eat their plate?" Charlotte finished.

"Yes! Thank you!"

"Sure I'll stay. I'm just picking up a few more records I left in the foyer."

Sure enough, Charlotte fetched the rest of her records and with Barbara's distant yet hyper light jumping speed-walked back to her friend. She was about fifteen feet away when—"Oomph!" Her voice and another's exclaimed in unison. The sound of records in their paper cases falling onto the floor made her look down without even bothering to see who was her collision victim.

"I beg your pardon," The voice, sounding male, apologized.

"That's alright." She assured. As the retrieval of the several black discs was nearly complete, she responded, "And thank you very..." She looked up as the records were handed to her only to see who it was. "...much..."

"Charlotte," Jeffrey spoke up and smiled. Charlotte nervously smiled back. Ever since that dream, she had been paranoid about her identity while in his presence. "What a surprise...what are you doing here?"

"Well...I..." She glanced between the brunette and the lively shindig. "You know the hostess, Barbara, right?"

"Mm-hm."

"So, Barbara found out through friends that my family, well my dad basically, possesses a 'large' record collection. How about you?"

"Nothing significant; just dropping off my sister and returning to the Weavers, and that's it." Before he could walk away, Barbara speed-walked excitedly towards the two.

"Thanks, Charlotte," She beamed, taking the records from Charlotte's arms. "Hi, Jeffrey. What's going on?"

"Nothing; I was just leaving."

"Oh, you should stay. Really."

"Miss McGrath, I'm afraid not."

"Please? A lot of people I invited couldn't come tonight." The red-headed hyper enthusiast looked up at him pleadingly. "Charlotte and quite a few people are here for that reason." It was apparent Barbara wasn't winning the case. "Please, Jeff; my parents really don't like it at all when there's lots of food and drink left over." At the timing of an Andrews Sisters song coming to an end, she hurried towards the dance floor. "Hang on a moment; I'm needed right now."

"Yes, well, I guess my being here or not is settled." Jeffrey spoke out of the blue a few seconds after Barbara left.

"So you're staying?" Charlotte asked.

He smiled. "Yes."

"Everyone! Your attention, please!" Barbara called from a small platform. "We're giving the records a recess. In a substitute of the wonderful musicians you've heard, may I present to you, the renowned duet of Clark Mann and Lucille Wiggins." The party guests lightly applauded the two high school students coming up to the platform.

"They go to the high school Amelia attends, and from what I've heard they must be very good." Jeffrey said. "Have you heard them before?"

"No, not yet I haven't. I just know Barbara said something about a duet singing tonight."

The lighting faded to a mild soothing tone, leaving only a few bulbs as they were before. A young man about Jeffrey and Charlotte's age sat down at the baby grand piano, and a teenage boy and girl ascended to the platform beside the large percussion instrument. The pianist began with a soft prelude to the melody he was to play. Staring dreamily at the ceiling, the young duet inhaled a breath or two before beginning their song. Clark crooned,

_When I fall in love_

_It will be forever_

_ Or I'll never fall in love_

_ In a restless world like this is_

_ Love has ended before it's begun_

Jeffrey glanced at Charlotte as she smiled, admiring the duet. After reluctantly volunteering to stay at a party full of teenagers, he might as well.

"May I have this dance?" He asked, formally offering his hand.

_And too many moonlight kisses_

_ Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun_

"It would be my pleasure." She surrendered her hand to his, and he led her in a descent to the dance floor. Not wanting to disrupt others' graceful dances, they stopped outside the cluster.

Following the law of ladies first, she laid a hand on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her back. They started out with the gentle swaying everyone else was doing. Lucille stepped out of her silence to finish the rest of the chorus.

_When I give my heart _

_It will be completely_

_Or I'll never give my heart_

_And the moment _

_I can feel that_

_You feel that way too_

_Is when I fall in love_

_With you_

Jeffrey smiled smugly with a mischievous look in his blue eyes. Charlotte raised her eyebrow. "What?"

"Let's say we try out what we've learned over the years, shall we?"

At the observation that they weren't in the middle of the dancers and thus and room to break out into extravagant dance steps, she replied, "Let's shall."

The singing duet joined each other to repeat the chorus together. The dancing duet danced as smoothly as if they were figure skaters in an ice rink. He held out his arm as she spun out and back into him. To her surprise during another spin, he lifted her off the ground. Instead putting on the air of passionate dancing by tilting her head back with her eyes closed, she simply stared down at him.

They continued in an extravagant show of fluid spins and rapid feet maneuvers that would've made one's head swim. The dreamy dance began to decline when Amelia swayed next to them and whispered "pst!" before turning away. Jeffrey turned his head. "Keep at it!" She whispered before she was spun any farther by her dance partner.

"What was that?" Charlotte asked after her partner's sister turned away.

"Nothing." Jeffrey grinned.

"Amelia?" She guessed.

"Mm, yes, the little imp."

Jeffrey and Charlotte stood out on the dance floor with more elegant complex maneuvers. Clark and Lucille tranquilly ended their song with a delicate vocalization, and a series of applause followed. The music from the record player began to play again, and the dance floor participants swayed to the rhythm of a gentle jazz orchestra.

She stared into the Brit's blue eyes. This was all so wonderful…so wonderful that it should never come to a finish. A thought from the back of her mind began pricking at her. Should she tell him?

"Charlotte?" His voice penetrated her thoughts.

"Hm?"

"May I say one thing?"

"Sure."

_Oh, God, if you exist, please! Please! Please! I hope nobody told him. __**I **__wanna be the one to tell him._

"You and I have been friends for quite some time for the past nearly four years in our dance classes. And…"

"Yes?"

_God, please! No, no!_

"You're one of my dearest friends."

"…Really?"

"Absolutely. You've been one of the few who actually take an interest in what I do and love. You're an astounding woman, Charlotte. And I don't come across anyone like that every day."

Charlotte's thoughts of fear died down. Aside from the fact that he was one of the few who never called her "Lottie", she didn't know what to say. Only, "…wow…

"I'm sorry, Jeff; I don't know what to say."

He chuckled. "That's alright. Before I leave, I'll say one more thing. When we have the time out of our busy schedules, there's something I want to show you." He turned to his sister and was reminded of the fact she had to be taken home. "I'll see you soon. Good night, Charlotte."

"Good night." She called back.

"…_Astounding…"_ What was so astounding about a dead hoofer Yankee con girl? Astounding that she could keep a secret for so long? Astounding…what was so astounding?

"Charlotte!" She heard a voice call that made her turn around.

"Barbara, hi. What is it?"

"Thanks so much for helping me with tonight. I'll return the records as soon as I can."

"Alright." The American froze again.

She _was _going to have to tell him.

** Holy, it's been a while, sorry. And on the song, I heard it on a Céline Dion CD and enjoyed it so much I set their dance to it. I researched it to see if I could really do it and WOO HOO! It existed in the 50s! **


	11. Stroke of Genius

**Okay, on my fandoms, updating is gonna be a bit of a struggle. I'm having the whip cracked at me for finishing school early. I also have a short-term substitute job since the person who usually does it won't be back for a while, so a lot of home time is going to be involved in homework. About 1 more chapter after this one on and I'll continue onto TIA and Area 52 Triad.**

Jeffrey held his head in his head, his fingers pressing tightly against his scalp. He knew he should've brought Amelia home. It was going to be a while before he would think about forgiving himself.

"I hate this! I hate it all!" He heard his little sister angrily yell before she returned to her series of sobs. "I'll never forgive that idiot! He deserved to die. Good riddance to him!"

"Amelia, dear," Their mother said softly, bringing a cup of tea to her daughter's side. "I know it's hard right now but try to calm down. You're only making your state worse."

"After what happened I'd gladly get worse. I'd gladly die. If Jeff had arsenic to experiment with in his 'lab,' I'd be more than happy to down it."

Well, thankfully Jeffrey had no arsenic, but if he did, he'd gladly get himself a wine goblet, give a toast to life and its sorrows, clink his glass to himself, and drink to their deaths. "Deaths" being more than the one he wanted.

The same night of the party, Amelia assured him that she would be just fine coming home with Lillian and Samantha. Later on that night, a drunk driver collided into the side of the bus that Amelia and her friends were riding home in. Six people died that night, including the drunk, the driver, and sadly…Lillian and Samantha. Amelia was among the survivors of the accident and now spent most of her day on a parlor sofa with a couple stitches on her forehead and a broken leg. With her great hatred against sit-down things like reading and embroidery, she could only watch the outside world she was missing out on.

Jeffrey wiped a couple of tears away and grabbed a couple of tissues for his ailing sister. He knelt down next to her and lifted up her quivering chin with his fingers.

"Here." He said. "I'm sorry I didn't come with you."

"Thanks, Jeff, but I don't need them."

"Why not? You'll make a mess of yourself."

"What, are you nuts? I'm already a mess. And for the record, this is merely sweating through my eyes. Amelia never cries. I'm actually quite happy you didn't come with us; I wouldn't want you gone too."

"I'm glad you think so, Amelia." He reached to hug his sister. For once, instead of shoving him away, she clung onto him and buried her face into his shoulder to cry. He stroked the back of her head and patted her. "I'm sorry. Can I get you anything?"

"No."

"Alright, just give me a holler if anything comes to mind." He retreated back to his room and sat down at his desk. He pulled out a hardcover notebook he had bought a few days ago from under the desk and a slender pencil from an old jam jar he used as a pencil cup. He slipped the writing utensil into a slot into a wooden box, and a loud whirring sounded. In surprise, he covered his ears and pulled the pencil out a few seconds later. The pencil had a fine tip, which made him smile, but boy was that sharpener loud. At the instance of opening that notebook, he wrote down, "Pencil sharpener—needs muffler." Thankfully, rationing was over now, and the only inhibitor from getting a limitless abundance of a necessity was money. Beforehand, the only times one could get a luxury was at Christmas time or during a birthday.

The War had been over for almost ten years, and, as one would expect of any war, several people died. The list included the soldiers in their battles, civilians during raids and bombings, and the Jews during the Holocaust. A good majority were individuals he had never met, seen, or heard of. The rest of them, whether dying as warriors or casualties, were compiled into a list large yet insignificant compared to the one mention earlier. Nevertheless, no matter how small, that list had the most impact on him.

One girl from his elementary school years used to live in London, only about twenty miles (thirty-two kilometers) from Watford, until her parents died in a bombing from the Blitzkrieg. Soon after that, she moved with relatives into the country and was rarely seen for years to come. One of his classmates lost two of his three siblings, both being in the war, and had only a little brother left. The death of Charlotte's brother Joseph made her an only child. And…well, and so on and so forth.

Still, even outside the war, people were dying. People died in accidents like Lillian and Samantha. Plane crashes, car collisions, you name it.

Jews and rebel citizens from Germany and its surrounding countries were sent to concentration camps, such as that hellish nightmare of a place called Auschwitz, and a good deal of them died there of diseases, starvation, and exhaustion.

And there were intentional and cruel methods of attack and murder. At concentration camps several people were placed in gas chambers and asphyxiated to death as they fought for a way out. Twisted wretches would bomb and shoot at and kill innocent people who were just living their normal everyday lives. Even outside of concentration camps, third-world countries and poverty stricken places gave their inhabitants mutual sufferings of hunger and sickness. Out of all this logical thinking Jeffrey realized that he was a spoiled wretch of a genius.

Wait…Genius…yes, genius…

An ambitious yet slightly wicked grin formed on his face as he chuckled. Before shoving them aside, he briefly glanced at his older blueprints. He had helped his family by making all sorts of home appliances like that coffee grinder for his mother and the metronome to help with Mildred's dancing while she still lived at home. Even while staying at the Weavers, he assisted them with nifty, eccentric little contraptions that corresponded with their everyday life.

He began scribbling down frivolously, not bothering to dash the "t"'s or dot the "I"'s. This time he was going to help again. And not just his family. This time he would help the world.

~…later on…~

"Charlotte! Charlotte!" A too familiar voice called. Charlotte turned around. She returned to Northampton to continue her studies the following week.

_God, please…_She prayed, despite her agnostic beliefs. She braced herself and turned around to meet her British friend.

"Hi, Jeff," She greeted, noticing his beaming wide smile. "What's going on?"

"I've a new concept for an experiment!" He announced.

"Really?"

"Well, have a seat on that park bench, and I'll tell you all about it. Well, not all about it; just what I've got right now."

"Alrightie."

"With the choice of hearing good news or bad news first, I'm afraid I'll have to say the bad news first. Charlotte,…" Still depressed, he sighed.

"What's wrong? You can tell me anything."

"The night of Barbara's party, when Amelia, my sister, was riding home on a bus,…there was an accident. Thankfully, Amelia wasn't killed as she just has a broken leg and a few stitches, but…two of her friends along with a few other people died in the accident."

"Oh, no," Charlotte held her mouth with her cupped hands. "Poor Amelia. This must be so hard for her."

"Mm, yes. Yes, it is. Once my parents and I revealed the tragedy to her when we brought her home from the hospital, she cried all day. Even when I left to return to Northampton, she was still crying." He paused. "With World War II and accidents and such, I wish people didn't have to die of horrible cases like that."

"I bet anything everybody wishes that…well, except for the suicidal." She let out an airless chuckle. "Sadly, we have to die. It's all part of the circle of life. My parents and I learned that rule well when Joseph died." Silence filled the air for a minute or two. "So…what's the good news?"

"Wellll, where do I start?...Hmmm…oh, yes. My thoughts on people's death, even your brother's, has brought me to a solution. While I've helped the people in my life with little contraptions and inventions, I'm taking a big step in my works. Charlotte Campbell, I'm determined to help the world!"

"Alright!" She responded, unsure of what to think.

"I haven't figured it all out yet, but think about it, Charlotte. Just think about it! People will soon walk out of accidents, battlefields, natural disasters, and peril with little injury. By da Vinci's scissors, just imagining it makes me ecstatic."

"That's wonderful. With me seeing what you've done so far, I believe you can do it. If vaccines for small pox and TB and electricity can make life better, I'm sure this will succeed by far."

"Again, thank you so very much, Charlotte. Is there anything you wanted to say?"

Charlotte gulped…_here we go. _"Jeff, there is something I want to say….that that night at Barbara's party was one of the happiest nights of my life. I don't think I'll ever regret your decision to stay." She turned her head down toward her left. "You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not myself today."

"Why not?" She closed her eyes and leaned her head against her fingers, quietly hyperventilating. "Charlotte, what's the matter? You can tell me anything."

_Anything. You can tell me anything _repeated in her head continuously. _No, no, I can't. _She thought. She finally mustered the courage to look him in the eye and say something.

"Jeff," She said with a cracked voice. "I'm not who you think I am."

"What are you talking about? I don't understand."

"At this moment, you won't." How was she going to do this? She wanted to spare him of the shock and the disappointment, yet she had to destroy the mystery she had brought upon him. Wiping away tears and swallowing what she could of the lump in her throat, she took in a deep breath. The next thing she knew a set of fingers delicately touched her chin and gently turned her face toward his.

"It's alright." He whispered, returning his hand to his lap. "You can tell me anything."

"Really? Anything?" He nodded his head. She sadly smiled. "If you find out what I really am, I don't know what your response will be…I mean, I'm no slut; I haven't made love with anybody. I'm not a jailbird; I've never broken laws. And so on and so forth. Knowing you and what you stand for, I know yet don't know how this will affect our friendship."

_I don't care what the consequences are. _She thought inside. _I'm not going to run away from this. I am __**not **__going to run._

"Jeffrey, I must confess something. While I'm someone different from what I've said, I will say this: that anything about my life, the past and present, has never been a lie. And I will never lie to you.

"I am British…but not completely; only half-British." Charlotte glanced up to get a brief look at Jeffrey's slightly surprised expression. "While I came from Hatfield to attend classes at Northampton, I came from a small town in Pennsylvania, America, to take care of my widowed grandmother who lives here in England.

"I'm British by my mother. She emigrated from England to America shortly after World War I and there met my father, an…American…, and married him." She paused and stared for a few seconds at his astonished face, facing the ground away from her as in disgust.

"Jeffrey, I'm sorry to shock like this. I didn't do this for you but for my classmates. I was afraid of being misplaced because of my nationality and me being so different.

A tear spilt down her face. Before turning around and walking away, she looked at him at what was probably that one last time.

"…I'm sorry…

"…I hope you can forgive me…"

**What now? Sorry yet not sorry that I have to leave you kids with a cliffie. On killing off two girls, I'm horrible, I know.**


	12. Deserving

"What do you mean you dumped her?" Amelia raged. For the record, her leg was doing better as she paced around the parlor and limped. Occasionally she would stop to give her leg a recess, moaning each time. "You idiot! You ingrate! You pompous, air-headed, prissy, egotistical racist son of a gun! You, you, you…you turkey baster!" Jeffrey could only think of wincing at the names thrown at him. Well, except for her goofy euphemism at the end.

"Amelia?" He piped up.

"What?"

"May I say one word?"

"One word, Jeff. Spit it out and make it quick!"

"Amelia,—"

"That's your one word! You get to say nothing else!"

The brother and sister heard the door open. "What on earth?" Their mum exclaimed. "Whatever's the meaning of all this?"

"Mr. Anti-Yank ditched his girlfriend classmate." Amelia grumbled, pointing a finger at Jeffrey.

"Anti-Yank? Amelia, what are you saying?" Mrs. Hawkinson.

"Jeffrey found out his girlfriend is an American."

"Girlfriend? Amelia…" Jeffrey gawked.

"I said you get to say nothing else." Amelia retorted.

"Well, guess what, Amelia? I _am _going to say something. Miss Campbell wasn't a girlfriend in any way. She was just a classmate in my studies at Northampton."

"Then what was with the dancing at Barb's?"

"I've given my answer. And for one thing, what was with the dancing with Edward?"

"He was just a friend."

"That's what I'm saying about Miss Campbell."

"And for the record, ever since he mentioned me being (in a high pitched voice) his girl, (returns to normal voice) we've been through. I'm quite happy with myself. Not only for staying committed to my vow and turning poor Mister Eddie down but also for being smarter than you are. You may know things that even Einstein never knew, but at least I'm sixteen and not racist rather than almost twenty-three and sticking my nose up at certain people!"

"Amelia, that's enough." Mrs. Hawkinson said before her enraged daughter could continue her rant. "And sit down before your leg festers up again. Besides, dinner's on its way."

Jeffrey dashed up the stairs to the refuge of his desk where he could keep his mind focused on his works rather than his sister chewing on him. As for "dumping," as Amelia put it, well,…he didn't actually dump Charlotte.

They never spoke to each other again after that day. His feelings toward her race and his disappointment plus her shame and her respect of his standards separated them. Thankfully, he wasn't rude and tried to avoid eye contact with her. Throughout their lessons, even if they danced together as partners, they acted as if they never knew each other. Like they had never met at that tram shelter. Like they had never had those discussions at the campus and at various spots throughout the city of Northampton. Like they had never danced that night. Like he had never shared his inventions and concepts. Like she had never confessed.

~Northampton Campus—Girl's Dorm—The weekend before Fall Term 1955~

Though she had never lied, Charlotte was learning the consequences for her way of portraying her life. She returned to the quiet person she was when she arrived in England four years ago. She had received her Bachelor's degree last summer and was continuing onto her Master's of Arts. The only person she spoke to most of the time was Allison when they were together in their dorm room.

"I don't understand it, Allison," Charlotte said under her breath, sitting on her bed with her legs up to her torso and gently rocking herself. "I've confessed it all, I said I was sorry, yet I still feel like…well just awful."

"Have you talked to him ever since?" Allison asked, brewing herself a cup of tea.

"Mm-mm." She shook her head.

"I don't know what to say, Charlotte. And I'm sorry I don't."

"It's alright, Al."

"You want some tea?" Allison asked as she pulled out a cup off a small shelf on the wall.

"No thanks. My parents already know what happened, and as usual I received a nice little lecture from them. The good thing is sometimes you can always build back up again what's been broken down."

"I know. It's so awful that building up takes longer than tearing down."

"Yep. The world would be a better place with vice versa."

Poor Charlotte. It seemed there were only two choices—One: hope and see her way through to the good awaiting her. Two: let go and go on with life like nothing happened.

Right now, it looked like there was no point in hoping for and believing something that might never come to pass. She remembered her grandma once saying that faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen. _Sorry, Grandmum, _Charlotte thought. _With how bleak this is, there's no way._

Getting through the storm she was facing would take time but thankfully it would all be over soon. Letting go would take a while as well but leave her with a small scar in her heart that would probably never heal. Marrying another man and raising children would take her mind off of it but not all the time.

She held her head up and tried to muster a smile for the faces she saw in the ceiling texture. Two more years at Northampton and she would be free. She would no longer have to face him and suffer grey days for doing so. However, the smile died while she thought of him. If the circumstances the Brit and the American were both now facing wouldn't let them be together in the years to come, she would wish the happiness and abundance of the world.

~The same night…~

A series of moans and a steady thumping coming from the staircase caught his attention. Amelia stood at the top of the stairs, huffing like she had run a marathon yet straightening up and glaring like a villain ready to wreak revenge.

"Amelia, please. Don't give me that look." Jeffrey said while tinkering with an old soup can and a pair of pliers and trying to ignore her glinted eyes.

"Hmph!" She marched to his bed, sat down, and folded her arms across her chest.

"And please. I beg you; after dinner, no more crawling up and down the stairs."

"Hmph!"

"Really? How many times do we have to tell you? I only ask this because you're my sister and I'm concerned about you."

"Well, that's very nice of you, Jeff." She snapped sarcastically. "I may be handicapped but I'm not _that _handicapped. And you heard me earlier; as long as you don't speak to her I'm not speaking to you."

"Amelia, you know we've already been through this."

"Well, at least she told you the truth rather than having somebody else to tell it for her. Do you hard that is? To gather up the courage to go up to someone and give a big confession without being put on the spot? Even when it comes to the fact that you might be clobbered for it? Huh? I may not be there to do it in person, but I give her a standing ovation for that." She stood up while clapping only to grab her leg and gasp. "Ow…"

"Amelia, just sit down." Jeffrey sighed aggravated. His sister folded her arms but refused to sit back down. Her eyes shot open as she bit down on her lower lip until she started whimpering and finally dropped back onto her perch.

"Alright, alright." She grumbled. Everything was silent for the next few minutes except for the clank-clank of the crowbar against the soup can and Amelia's loud breathing. "Okay, mister, listen up. You heard my vow, right?"

"Which vow? You have several of them."

"I'll never marry, remember? How do you think I became through with Edward? Since I'm never marrying, I have nothing to do but marry off my siblings. Mildred's off with two kids of her own, so you're on my list."

"Amelia, _I'll _choose whom I'll marry and whether I'll marry or not."

"I guess you'll want someone who likes what you're doing. She did, right?" It was apparent our tomboyish invalid wasn't giving up.

"Miss Campbell deceived me about her life. I can't trust what she said about my interests."

"Well, what about—"

"Amelia!" Jeffrey stood up, fists clenched and eyes staring down at her. "That is enough." He groaned in frustration and sat back down.

"You should know well that I'm just as rude and brash as, as you put it, any A—"

"Amelia, what did I just say?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm shutting up." Without hesitation, she had a solution to her rebuttal. "Jeff?"

"What?" He growled.

"I heard the deceptive Miss Campbell will finish her classes when she completes her Master's degree June 1957. Once she graduates, you probably won't see her anymore."


	13. Engagements

**Oto jestem iz powrotem!** **("Here I am and back again!"; takin' up Polish) Long time no see, folks (almost a lifetime XD). A busy schedule + lack of what to do with this chapter + lack of inspiration = my slacking off. I've got a pretty good idea of what I'm gonna write next, so things'll speed up. We ready? Roll film!**

** The first part is largely inspired by Beauty and the Beast Broadway's **_**If I Can't Love Her**_**. The reprise will come later in the story. **

~December 1956~

The yellow stump of a pencil rolled up and down the notebook cover with the help of a push from his finger. His blue eyes boringly followed the motion as his head lay beside. Throughout all his works, this was the first time Jeffrey was at a loss of what to do. For the past two years, he filled notebook upon notebook with research for the survival of humanity. With idea after idea, Old Man Logic would drop in and show the worthlessness and impossibility of each one and eventually stop him in his tracks.

Jeffrey was looking forward to receiving his master's degree pretty soon and knew that he would soon have to get started on his doctoral thesis. Hopefully the upcoming busy two years would keep him sidetracked and give him some time to find more solutions.

And of Harold and the Weavers, you may ask? Harold would finish his master's degree in civil engineering soon. Even though Harold would graduate and move toward his career, the Weavers were kind enough to let Jeffrey stay and continue his education.

Thankfully, it was another weekend. And not just any regular weekend; it was just the start of Christmas break. Harold was halfway through his fifth year for his degree. So far, as for statistics, Harold: 5.5 down, 0.5 to go; Jeffrey: 5.5 down, 2.5 to go. Jeffrey was getting ready to go home to celebrate Christmas with his family. He was pretty much ready to head on out but was now sitting down on his luggage case to buckle it shut. _Click! _The buckle announced. _Yes! _The young genius thought.

"So, old boy, ya ready to go?" Harold asked.

"That I am. I'll just need to say my goodbyes, if I get the chance to, which I'm afraid can't happen." Jeffrey replied.

"Alrightie. I call dibs!" The young auburn-haired man fiddled with a little box in-and-out of his pocket.

"Harold, what is that?" Jeffrey asked, a scientist's curiosity rising in him.

"Oh, heh heh heh." He chuckled and cleared his throat. "It's about time you knew. You remember the Hardy girl? Allyson Hardy?" Jeffrey nodded his head. "Well, after break I'm gonna ask for her hand in marriage."

"My congratulations." Jeffrey lightly clapped his hands in applause.

"Thank you, yes, thank you." Harold playfully took a bow. Not hearing a muffled chuckle, he looked up before straightening. Jeffrey began his trip down the staircase towards the front door. "I'll tell the family you said hi and goodbye."

"Thank you very much, Harold." Jeffrey bid adieu politely, anxious to get home. "Merry Christmas." The door shut, making the recently hung wreath bounce as if too waving farewell to its home's guest. He walked a few blocks away from the house and caught a bus after a few minutes. He stepped inside and took a seat.

Light white flakes began to fall. It had rained the previous days, so the snow wouldn't stick well. Ever since rationing decreased, there were more cars on the road. Yet you could still see children and their mother or father running errands or shopping for Christmas gifts. Unexpectedly, he found another familiar site. While the other sites left him with a warm fuzzy feeling, this one left him bewildered. It was neither good nor bad; neither happy nor sad. It didn't harm; neither did it heal his soul. He stared back until it became a speck. The tram shelter.

The Campbell girl came to mind. For the past two years, the only time she stood out the most was when she would dance with him. That and when she would play chords on the piano for a selected dance song for a while when the original pianist was absent. Except for a couple of friends in class, she was pretty much on her own. At the end of the spring term earlier this year, the devilishly charming Jack Kendall dropped out of classes when he eloped with a lover classmate to Scotland. So far no one had seen him; maybe he hid away somewhere under their noses or he didn't come back. Thus she had no love interests, perhaps.

Nowadays since the start of the fall term, he would catch himself glancing at her. As soon as she turned her head towards him, he returned his to a distant stance away from her. He could only wonder if she ever did the same. Despite the distance, she crossed his mind more often. Even now he could yet couldn't forgive her. He believed she had eternally returned to her old shut-up-from-the-world, antisocial self; that was until she made friends with other girls in class. This revealed that she was still the same person he knew her as beforehand.

At home, nothing really changed much since the "Big Split" as Amelia had put it. The now eighteen-year-old tomboy still hadn't forgiven him, proudly stating that she would carry her grudges to the grave. Next fall, she would start college and stay with the Weavers along with Jeffrey, things would only get worse. Remembering her constant ranting and raging, he was reminded again and again that he had only until next June to make things right.

If he couldn't, then so be it.

~Northampton University; the following June~

Charlotte adjusted the black mortarboard on her head and positioned it in place with a couple bobby pins. Though she never saw the point of Allyson styling her hair in loose curls, her roommate insisted by saying, "It's a landmark of your life, Lottie. I want people to look back on this moment and say, 'Oh, how beautiful she looked.' Even if it's just me." Her dorm mate set not only Charlotte's but her own hair in curlers for the occasion. "And besides, we'll match."

The blond smiled and shrugged in surrender. _Oh well. _She looked down at herself in her graduation gown. When she graduated from high school in America, she remembered the gown being closed in the front. Today, she wore black again only with the gown open in the front. A blue triangular yoke adorned her chest and shoulders like a cloth necklace. She took in a deep breath. Something caught her attention away from the butterflies in her stomach. "Hey, Al?"

"Yeah?"

Charlotte tapped against the base of her left ring finger. Allyson looked down at her left hand, hidden by a long black sleeve, and blushed slightly at the sight of a simple ring. "July 16th. To Harold."

"My god, Al!" The American gawked. "Why didn't you tell me? I knew there was something between you and him, but…when did he propose?"

Allyson chuckled. "He proposed the day we came after Christmas break. Yeah, I guess I decided not to wear it until today."

"Ally, that's wonderful. Still, you're too good at keeping secrets."

"I know." She responded with a fake pride. "Before we go, will you be one of my bridesmaids?"

"I'd be happy to."

"Great; let's go. I'll discuss it with Harold today."

Well, folks, today was the day. Professor Hemingway and other teachers and instructors at Northampton would see a good deal of their students off. A large throng of graduates, young men and ladies, each with associates, bachelors, masters or doctorates in a menagerie of different courses, filled the auditorium. The building that held lectures throughout the school year would today only hold a speech and a long list of names in a role call for diplomas. Family and friends sat off at a distance away from the black-blue-clad myriad, some ready to clap and cheer their souls out and some ready to wipe away tears for the sake of pride and sentiment.

"…Mortimer Andrew Byrum with a Bachelor of Economics…" A professor announced as a tall slim redhead stepped up to the platform for his degree and a handshake. Applause from the watching audience debuted the start of a new life for each student. The list of B surnames was complete; now onto the C's. "…Allan Richard Cabot with a Doctorate of Optometry…" As the list went further down, the tension and nervousness of the graduating class became more intense. "…Charlotte Anne Campbell with a Master of Fine Arts…"

Charlotte stepped onto the platform, shaking the professor's hand and receiving her degree. The applause settled down her tension, and her face lit up upon hearing, "Go, Lottie!" from the cheering, signaling the presence of her parents in the colossus of people. She strolled back down the aisle, relieved yet impatient to get to her Mum and Daddy.

"Mum! Dad!" Charlotte squealed, running into the arms of her parents.

"I'm so proud of you, Lottie." Her dad said warmly, kissing her cheek. "Here; I want to show you something." He drew an old black-and-white photograph from his coat pocket.

"Awww." Charlotte and her mother cooed. The family bittersweetedly smiled at the picture of a young dark-haired man in an army uniform giving a nine-year-old girl with blond braids in her hair a piggyback ride. The brother and sister posed in front of a one-story house, a blue star hanging on the front window.

"Here's another one." A newer picture came out. It was of a teenager, the previous girl all grown up, with her parents but sadly without the young man. "Right before the Campbell Castle was sold." The family chuckled. "How about now?"

"Now?" Mrs. Campbell gawked at the much newer color picture. Of the same house. "We haven't been there in six years. Herb, h-how did you do it?"

"A client of the wedding coordinator I work for took a business trip to the States in Philadelphia. He knew I lived somewhere close by, and my boss asked if he could take a picture of the house, you know for old time's sake. Believe me, it was quite a surprise. Now for a bigger surprise…" Five slips of paper came from the same pocket. The eyes and mouths of both ladies popped opened.

"Dad, you didn't." Charlotte gasped. "When are we leaving?"

"August 18th next year; we'll spend two weeks. Noticing the worried look on Mrs. Campbell's face, he added, "And don't worry. We'll bring Grandmum along too."

"Then what's with a fifth ticket?" Charlotte cocked her head.

"That's a chance to take a friend along with you." The father smiled.

"Seriously?"

"By all means, Lottie."

A surprise hug came from behind. "Congratulations, girl!" An English-accented female voice exclaimed.

"Ally, congratulations back at you." The American blond returned the hug. "Mom, Dad, this is my friend and roommate, Allyson."

"Oh, pleasure." Mr. Campbell greeted, shaking the graduate's hand.

"Hello, dear." Mrs. Campbell greeted with a hug.

"It's great to finally meet you two." Allyson waved. "I'm telling you, Char-" She turned around. "Is that Harold? That's Harold! He got it!" She cheered and whooped, her friend eventually joining her. Harold, upon noticing his bride, galloped up the staircase and wrapping his arms around her. "I knew you could do it!" She squealed, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Thanks, Ally Al," He smiled, turning a light shade of red.

"Harold, I don't think you've met Charlotte, my roommate."

"I think I have seen you on and off, Charlotte. But it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise." Charlotte replied.

"She's going to be one of my bridesmaids." Allyson announced.

"Which one?" Harold asked.

"I think first."

"So that means she'll be escorting my first groomsman, Jeffrey Hawkinson."

Gulp.

**(Twilight Zone theme music playing) Well now…what'll happen next with our pair? PS: Pardon any errors in the graduation ceremony. **


	14. The Wedding

**Finally an update! 100°F/37.78°C weather and staying inside or staying up late with my ice cream, popsicles and Dr. Pepper have really got me going. I swear I'm a-gonna cook up a load of updates before school starts. Or, for some people, should I say "s*#%$ " instead of…oh never mind.**

"You didn't go to her?" Amelia still had a hard time accepting that. Jeffrey ignored his sister as he hung a tuxedo in an armoire. "And don't give me 'what's done is done'. I still don't forgive you; in fact I'd be more than happy to disown you."

"Amelia, dearest, you just don't around disowning people like flies." Her mother spoke up.

"Well, when I become a lawyer, I can." She returned. "So, who are you escorting down the aisle for tonight's rehearsal?"

"I don't know." Jeffrey spoke up. "Harold forgot to tell me, so I won't find out until tonight."

Tonight was the night before Harold and Allison's wedding. With Jeffrey being a groomsman and the Hawkinsons invited to the wedding, the family was staying at an inn for the night somewhere in Northampton. The wedding was going to be held outside at Racecourse Park, which was right beside the University campus. Not only was it the night before the wedding, but also the night of the rehearsal. Jeffrey had to be there in about twenty minutes.

One good thing about having a rehearsal outside in the summer is that the sun didn't set yet. It probably would be well on its way down by the time the rehearsal was over.

"Ah, Harold." Jeffrey greeted the groom-to-be and shook his hand. To his surprise, Harold pulled him into a half hug.

"Evening, Jeff." He smiled widely. "You ready for tonight?"

"I might as well be." Jeffrey shrugged.

"Great! Just what I wanted to hear." Harold gave his chum a light slug on the arm. "The party's over there. Just, you know, relax, have a chat or two, and when everybody else gets here, we'll get things started."

"Alright." He muttered, straightening up. He looked over at a trio of girls surrounding Allison.

"I swear, Ally," Emma over the ring on the bride-to-be's finger. "It's so gorgeous. He is one lucky guy, even though he's my brother."

"Lucky alright." Charlotte commented. "And one heck of a guy, too. You're lucky yourself."

"You really think so?" Allison asked as she blushed.

"Oh, we know so." Gretchen, Allison's older sister, answered smugly.

Meanwhile, Christopher arrived with one of the groomsman-bridesmaid pairs, Claude and Melanie.

"Okay," Allison spoke up, making herself take deep breaths. "Hey, Gretchen, what about Leisl?"

"Don't worry, sis." Gretchen replied. "I'll be at the end of the aisle when she and our ring bearer Ricky, Harold's second cousin, come down."

"Alrightie, ladies and gentlemen," Harold called to everyone's attention. "Let's get ready to go. You all know your places, so line up." The bridal party organized into two single-file lines. Getting in line, the distant genius and immigrant abruptly bumped into each other.

"Excuse me," Jeffrey apologized.

Charlotte didn't respond but looked up bravely at him. "Hello," She softly greeted

"Hello." He replied. A few seconds later after turning away and focusing on their part in the march-in, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm (clears throat) one of Allison's bridesmaids," She answered. "Next to the Matron of Honor, her sister Gretchen."

"Ah." _I'm escorting her? _Jeffrey's mind ran around in circles like gears on full-speed-ahead. _Well, of course, yes; I saw her and Miss Hardy together quite a bit at college. Still, blast it! 'Serves me right for being shut up and not catching on or saying anything. Maybe that's a good thing. After all, this is their wedding, not mine. _

Before everybody knew it, the rehearsal was over. While the boys left for a small bachelor party at the Weaver home, the ladies of the bridal party walked over to a not-far-away cafe for light chitchat and a few sips of champagne and bites of small sandwiches. Albeit, it was a pleasant night for the girls and the future Mrs. Weaver. Towards the end of the light festivities, Allison quickly went over to Charlotte.

"Oh, Charlotte!" She blurted quietly. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I totally forgot all about what happened between you and Jeff."

"Ally, calm down." Charlotte grabbed the bride-to-be's shoulders, ready to tame her emotions. "It's okay. It's gonna be fine. It'll only be for a few minutes. We'll link arms for only a minute; we won't even have to look at each other. You remember the dummies they use in movies, right?"

Allyson nodded and thought about the question. She giggled and broke out into a sweet chime-like laugh. Self-conscious, she cupped a hand over her mouth, still muffling her laughter.

"Jeffrey? A d-dummy? Oh golly. I hope no one heard that." She whispered. "Hopefully. I think we'd better get going back before it gets dark out."

"Alrightie, Al." The two friends hugged each other goodbye. "Enjoy your last night as Miss Hardy."

"Thanks much. Sleep tight, Charlotte."

The next day, in the afternoon…

Jeffrey fidgeted with the green necktie he wore. Yes, he was very experienced in many fields but a definite amateur in the field of tie-tying. Even though a good deal of it was under the shield of his black tuxedo jacket, it would still be pretty noticeable of what a screw-up job he had done. Putting the red rose from the left side of his chest and onto the tie would look even more ridiculous. "Blast it!" He whispered. _Come on now…we don't have much time left._

"Need help?" A voice to his right asked. He turned around to face his American escort. She wore a spring green tea-cup style dress with her sleeves being only a matching silk shawl that covered half her upper arms. Her outfit matched the other bridesmaids' except that Gretchen wore a light yellow shawl instead of green.

"…Sure." He answered hesitantly. Upon leaving the bachelor shindig, he returned to his abode without saying a word about his unexpected encounter.

"So…how's your doctorate coming along?" She asked. She had already untangled the piece of fabric and was just about to finish up.

"Fine, I suppose. I should be able to graduate on time June 1959."

"That's good to know." She pulled the narrow end of the tie to a perfect fit. "There you go."

"Thank you." He mumbled so softly she couldn't hear when she turned away. Having watched her for the past two years since that shaking day, she had proven to be the same person she was before she was "American". Now, as his feisty sister had demanded, he had to complete the test. "What's happening with you?" He asked out of the blue.

_"'What's happening with you?'" _She thought, surprised yet a bit outraged. _"Why would he care? I'm well on his list of hates and boy do I know it!" _She turned to him. _"Well, easy does it, Lottie. Let's give it a go." "_I'm going back home, in Pennsylvania, next summer."

"Does that mean you're not coming back?"

"_Sadistic. _No, only for a little less than two weeks. It was a surprise gift for graduation."

"That's nice."

"So you're still staying with the Weavers, even though Harold won't live there anymore?"

"Yes."

"_I'll be danned." _She half-thought, half-muttered. _"What in what brought that up?" _

The slurred first notes of Pachelbel's Canon played by a small instrumental orchestra caught the bridal party's attention. Each member stood in a single or double file line, prepared for their part of the wedding. The party's debut was the groom escorting his mother down the aisle to the front pew. After he kissed her soft cheek, Harold stood off a short distance from the minister.

"Jeffrey," Charlotte whispered. _"Great; he's gonna kill me! Well not exactly, but still, yikes!" _

"Hm?" He looked at her.

"I'm sorry," She expressed. "About everything. For goofing up and making a fool out of myself , being the charlatan I was. _Come to think of it, even my first _and_ middle names sound almost exactly like 'charlatan'."_

Leisl and Ricky began their seemingly long trod down the makeshift yet gorgeous aisle, fidgeting on the occasion when their stepping seemed off.

"You know what?" He spoke up, watching the youngest pair. "I'm sorry too." With those three words, his always high dignity hit rock bottom. "I'm sorry I let a few of life's mishaps misjudge you."

Claude and Melanie gracefully stepped their way toward the altar. They were running out of time.

"I was blinded by that and never realized until a short while ago that you really did admire what scientific works I showed you. And that the only thing you lied about was your nationality."

The third pair reached their position. Emma and James began their turn down the aisle.

"I forgive you, Charlotte. Will you forgive me?"

"I already do. I already have." They wrapped their arms around each other, joyful to be finally reunited as friends.

"We'd better get ready." He whispered, straightening his tuxedo jacket.

"Yes or 'Here comes the bride' will turn into 'Here comes the bridesmaid'." They linked arms and followed the thrice-trodden trail to the altar.

…six months later, February 1958…

"Soooo…" Amelia spoke up. "When you made up with Charlotte, did you mean it with all of your heart?"

"Amelia, will you ever stop?" Jeffrey asked. He sat down on the sofa and began writing furiously in a notebook. "Of course I did."

"Take a wild guess." She replied smugly and crossed her bare arms. "You seem to be yourself nowadays with the darling Lottie at your side." He didn't respond. "Well, are you?!"

Still receiving no response, she nonchalantly bent down towards her brother's book. She browsed past the scientific mumbo jumbo and stopped at a for-once-in-his-life note written in his slick, suave handwriting:

"Campbell Residence: 748 Redding Way, Hatfield. August 18, 9:00 AM sharp."

Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets and she squealed, nearly screaming. Laughing hysterically, she threw her arms around his neck like a feather boa. "You madman, you!" She cried, constantly kissing his cheek. "I love you so much I could eat you up! I swear up and down you're the best brother in the world!"

Jeffrey, a bit uncomfortable in her clutches, rolled his eyes. _Now she admits it. _

"Oh, man alive!" She shrieked. "You get to go to America?! You lucky dog! Man alive! You're the luckiest person on Earth!"

**I've got relatives in Pennsylvania that I really want to visit. Hopefully I will pretty soon and take the chance to see New Hope. And I might (next summer hopefully) get to see the world around my story. My family's planning to go to Scotland, my ancestral crib, and maybe Ireland and England if things work out. Heh heh heh, I'm sure I can finish this story before I go. **


	15. Bon Voyage!

**FULL SPEED AHEAD! (train whistles) Okay, 'nuf said. For some reason, I have a tendency to make these chapters pretty long. **

August 18th, 1958

6:30

…_blast_...

There are two things that suck about anticipation. One: you have a hard time falling asleep the night before. Two: you wake up too early and can't go back to sleep the actual day.

Tossing and turning to get comfortable became useless. He was awake but still tired. Awake enough to work on his doctoral thesis but too tired to finish up the last step of another invented mathematics formula.

His twenty-sixth birthday would be tomorrow. He wouldn't be with his family on that special day, so last night the Hawkinsons and Pooles celebrated with a small party. He received another notebook with a rather nice fountain pen, and the whole family pitched in to buy him a typewriter.

Come to think of it, it was probably a good thing he woke up at that early time. He looked over at the contraption still in its box. How he couldn't wait to use it when he returned home. Maybe he could even tinker with it and make it better than it was, better than the best typewriter in the world. He picked up his birthday notebook and began to sketch the layout of a typewriter's keyboard. The first row and half of the second row were complete when he heard his mum call from outside his door, "Jeffrey, are you awake?"

"Yes, Mum." He replied. He rechecked his alarm clock before turning it off. 7:30? Man, time could _really _fly.

"Good. Breakfast will be in a few minutes." Sure enough, a wonderful aroma spread throughout the house as he changed into a light blouse and slacks, remembering Charlotte's warning about the United States East Coast's notorious summer heat. He hummed parts of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony while finishing up dressing, combing his hair, washing his face, and coming down the staircase.

"Morning, Mum." Jeffrey greeted with a gentle peck on her cheek.

"Good morning, Jeff." Mrs. Hawkinson chimed back affectionately, rubbing his shoulder before scooping pancakes and bacon from the sizzling cast iron pans onto a plate. He set the dish down on the dining room table and spread butter across the pancakes.

"Morning, son," His father greeted. Jeffrey quickly swallowed a piece of bacon.

"Hello, Dad." He called back.

Mr. Hawkinson pulled down a mug from a kitchen shelf but leaned over toward his wife. They pulled each other into a tight embrace and kissed each other. Married shortly before the start of the Great Depression and raising a son and two daughters during that and World War Two, nothing could tear them apart. Their personalities contrasted—he was quiet; she was a socialite, but they were a perfect match; hopefully the young genius would find that one day. Even though they were nowhere near of being scientists, his parents were the most hailed of his heroes, and by Curie's cookbook did he love them.

Jeffrey finished his breakfast and set his plate in the sink to soak. He hurried up the staircase to his room to bring down his already packed suitcase. However, there was one thing left to do. He snuck into Amelia's room, his sister tangled in her bed covers from tossing and turning in the heat. He brushed back a few brunette locks and lightly kissed her brow. Like Sleeping Beauty after Prince Charming's kiss, she awoke and sat up.

"You're leaving?" She said drowsily. He nodded, and she wrapped her arms around her brother. "Have a great trip. She pulled back with a tired smile. Amelia had really matured from a feisty, fiery and wild little rascal into a still fiery but bright and beauty young woman of nineteen years.

"Good-bye, Amelia." He smiled.

"Toodles. And happy birthday, now get going."

"Yes, ma'am!" He grabbed his somewhat heavy suitcase and looked again at the clock: 8:20. Time to get going alright! He trotted down the staircase with the steady _bump!-bump!-bump! _of his luggage. He came into the kitchen where his parents were talking over coffee.

"Are you bringing any projects with you?" His mum asked.

"Some; only a couple." He replied. "I'll work on my doctoral thesis if there's nothing else to do, probably during the flights."

"Both of those, I bet, are about eleven hours each." Mr. Hawkinson noted. "Not a bad idea."

"But try not to spend too much time with it." Mrs. Hawkinson.

"Of course, Mum. With the exception of the flights, I doubt there will be a dull moment."

"Alrightie." The woman nodded her head. "You better catch a lorrie pretty soon. See you in two weeks, and happy birthday." She hugged her son, giving him a gentle kiss.

"Happy birthday, son." The blonde-haired man spoke. He shook his son's hand. "Good luck."

"Good-bye, Dad." Jeffrey replied. "Good-bye, Mum." He picked up his suitcase and opened the front door, stepping down the two concrete steps in time for a bus to stop at the corner of the street.

~Meanwhile…~

Charlotte pulled the suitcase toward the front door. Carrying it down the staircase was one easy ordeal; dragging it from the bottom of the stairs through the hallway across the living room—weaving in and out of furniture included—to the other side in the foyer was another story. What made matters complicated was not only the weight of her baggage but that she was also taking charge at the moment of her grandmum's belongings too. Pulling with all that she could, she made it to the front door only to slip on fall on the hardwood floor. She chuckled at her mishap but winced at the pain in her right shin.

"You okay, Lottie?" Her dad asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She replied, pulling up her skirt to make sure she wasn't bleeding. With the stinging pain she felt for the few minutes, she bet anything she would have a handsome bruise and a bump for the next few months. Straightening her skirt and pulling herself back up, she heard a _ding-dong! _outside the door.

She swung the door open and there stood the young Brit. "Good morning. How's it going?" She asked, letting him in.

"I'm alright and good morning." He covered a yawn with his hand and set his suitcase down. "Pardon me…"

"So this must be the young man I've heard so much about." Mr. Campbell stated, coming out of the kitchen. "Glad to meet you, Jeff." The balding American man gave Jeffrey a firm handshake.

"Welcome to our home, Jeffrey." Mrs. Campbell followed with her mother at her side and greeted with a tender yet confident air. "I'm glad to finally make your acquaintance."

"My pleasure, madam." Jeffrey nodded and kissed her hand.

"Charming." Mr. Campbell muttered, looking at his daughter and winking an eye.

"Dad," Charlotte playfully nudged her dad's arm.

"We'd better get moving." Mr. Campbell announced glancing at his wristwatch. Another doorbell chime caught their attention. "What the—" He opened the door. "Oh, hi there, you two." In stepped Harold and Allison, a smile on both faces. "Well, this is perfect timing; we were just about to take off."

"Hi, Jeff." Harold said, once again pulling his friend into a hug.

"Mm, hello, Harold." Jeffrey replied.

Charlotte and Allison hugged each other tightly. The American young woman felt a bump in between herself and her friend. "Oh, Ally; that's right." She gawked, placing her hands on Allison's stomach. Allison beamed happily. She and Harold had been married for a year already and had lived in the basement at her parents' house. They were looking for a place to live of their own, so the Campbells suggested that the young couple could stay in their home during the trip while they continued their search. And as Charlotte noted, Allison was three months along with a set of twins.

Soon, as everyone was saying hello they were saying good-bye. Each family member, except Grandmum Boyer, picked up their luggage and opened the door, everyone saying their own adios.

"Bye!"

"See you all soon!"

"Good-bye, sweeties."

"Farewell!"

"And please, help yourself to anything you see."

The five travelers caught a bus for a trip to the airport in London. Upon entering the busy crowded place, Mr. Campbell asked while looking back at their arrival seven years ago, "Remember this, ladies?"

Agreeing with a short, anxious nod, they each were handed their tickets and gave the staff their luggage. Charlotte couldn't help but notice the nervous expression on Jeffrey's face and the shaking of his hands.

"You alright?" She asked.

"I guess," He answered, surrendering his suitcase. "It's just that I've never flown before. As you probably remember, flying was much too risky during the War."

"I know that much. And jet lag. I know New Hope's only five hours off of England's time, but I'm telling you now, that it'll be an adjustment alright."

"I bet."

"Yeah, hopefully it shouldn't take too long. It's almost eleven now, so it's six in New Hope. By the time we arrive it'll be seven in the evening there and midnight in England. I'll say this much; it's gonna be one long day."

The two Yanks and three Brits made their way through the mob outside to the airplane. Stepping up the wheeling staircase into the aircraft and taking their designated seats, they could only wait. Next thing they knew all systems were go and the plane began its short journey to the run way for its much longer voyage. Still nervous, Jeffrey clung onto the armrests tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"If you need to," Charlotte reassured. "Take my hand."

The plane lifted off the ground into the air, and she held his hand as he shut his eyes. The upward direction and a short gradual turn to set the course to New York City was the only intense part, as he observed, when it was all over.

"Well, that wasn't so bad." He sighed. Charlotte smiled. Watching what could be seen through the small windows, the five passengers saw cars turn into dots along black little lines. The land soon transformed into a quilt-like pattern. For a short time, they saw the luscious beautiful green of Ireland.

The one site that overwhelmed them before ascending into the clouds was the crossing from green to blue. The thrill seemed to be over, and they returned to whatever they could bring with them in their seats.

Boringly, Charlotte pulled out a notebook and a pen.

"Monday, August 18, '58,

11:30 am—England

6:30 am—Pennsylvania

Just crossed over the English border. Maybe will see Ireland like the last time I flew. For now nothing to see."

…let's see…what else…

"I…

"…like…

"…forget-me-nots."

For the next half-day, the five found ways to pass the time. Jeffrey wrote what he could for his paper and worked on learning how to use the keyboard on his rough sketch. Charlotte updated her log every once in a while and played several games of one-man hangman, with Jeffrey and/or family members joining in on the occasion. Naps became common later on in the day, and a small dinner was served around 6 o'clock (1 in Pennsylvania).

Around 11:30 at night (6:30 p.m.) a growing sea of lights appeared in the distance. A sea green towering statue created bright anxious expressions on several faces; they were almost there. "There she is, Jeff." Charlotte said, both peering as best as they could outside the window. "Lady Liberty."

Mr. Campbell wiped away tears of joy and sentiment. Mrs. Campbell, pleasant to be only minutes away from her second home, awoke her mother. Dorothy's "Oh, Auntie Em, there's no place like home!" was the perfect fit to Charlotte's exhilaration. Jeffrey could only stare with intrigue and wonder despite the fact he saw all this several years ago as a boy.

Upon the plane landing, for several passengers it was so good to be on stable ground again that the average weirdo would've kissed the ground. The five retrieved their luggage, but as tired as they were they had one more journey to go: a fifty-four-mile/eighty-nine-kilometer drive across New Jersey to the other side of the Delaware River. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell took turns being on the lookout for signs of their small hometown.

Thankfully, reservations at a hotel were already made. They finally arrived and checked in for three years. Mrs. and Mrs. Campbell and Grandmum Boyer shared a room while Jeffrey and Charlotte each had a room of their own. However, they were so tired that once the suitcases were set down they collapsed and crashed into a desperately desired sleep, still in their travel clothes.

…

**Should have the next couple chapters coming up pretty soon. Just as a stupid crappy author gobbledy gook, here goes. 10 things about me…1. I had a huge vein on my nose 'til I was 10. 2. From last summer to this May, I was kinda a goth wannabe. 3. I knew about Andy Griffith before he died. 4. I used to get Michael Jackson & Michael Jordon mixed up. 5. I am a major city girl. 6. I used to have crushes on Lumiere, Will Turner and Dr. Cockroach. 7. I love grey, black, and the occasional light green. 8. I'm scared to death of bees. 9. I used to be a severe perfectionist. 19. Dark chocolate and coffee are so gross! (how do people like that stuff?) **

** PS: One-man hangman is one of my favorite pastimes. I already know the answer but I pick a long passage most of the time…just fill in the blanks. Crazy, huh? O_o **


	16. New Hope or Showing You My World

**Finally something for this chapter. Have to start cranking on my stories before school starts and things get hectic with a capital "HECK". Oh, keep on forgetting to say this: I finally drew Amelia! You can see it and my other fan works on my deviantART site (see my profile page). I'd give the URL right here, but it tends to malfunction. **

About ten hours after their arrival at the hotel, everyone felt awake and that they needed to head out the door. They fell asleep at nine in the evening and woke up at what felt like eleven the next morning.

Eyeing the small round clock on the wooden bedside table, Jeffrey cocked an eyebrow. He then looked at the stylish watch still on his left wrist from yesterday and pulled the slightly prominent knob out of its socket and twisted the short hand down from "11" to "6".

The young Brit sat up, stretching his arms before leaning on them. Man, did it ever feel awkward sleeping in everyday clothes. A mental alarm rang off in his mind. "It's my birthday today. I'm twenty-six. If things turn out in the right direction, I'll receive my Ph.D.!" On the thoughts of his upcoming degree, he remembered his father's words several years ago when he was a boy:

"Jeffrey, like China is well known for its exports of rice and tea, we Hawkinsons have been well known for several years as performing artists—acting, dancing, singing, dramatics—throughout Hertfordshire and even abroad. We may not be up there with Elizabeth Taylor or Ed Wynn, but in some way or another, my boy, we're always looked up to for that."

Ever since he first heard that, he supposed it purposed to be passed down to the next generation to his children like "just like how my father told it to me, how his father told it to him,…(you get the idea)" Even if science still was more of his forte rather than dance, he was too close for turn-backs. He was quite awake, so he dressed himself in cleaner and less wrinkled clothes similar to yesterday's outfit and combed his messy hair back into the suave style he admired.

About two hours later, the Campbells, Hawkinson, and Boyer enjoyed a light yet scrumptious breakfast at a café only a couple blocks away from the hotel. After the short stroll back, Mrs. Campbell and Grandmum Boyer returned to their room for a bit of relaxation and rest. The three left ventured throughout the little town lined with bits of flora and fauna, historical landmarks, and quaint little shops.

"Okay, you two," Mr. Campbell called to attention. "We can travel around for the next two hours and can start wherever you like. But-"

"Herb?" A male voice called. "Criminelly, love a duck! Is it you?"

Mr. Campbell turned around to shake the hand of and hug a client from his business-man days. "Yep, it's me alright."

"And that's gotta be the little lady." He nodded his head towards Charlotte and waved.

"Hi!" Charlotte replied, waving her hand back excitedly. Jeffrey couldn't help but notice she wasn't as shy around here.

"Good to be back, eh, sister?" The man, Mr. Bright, asked.

"Sure thing!"

The two middle-aged old friends tied into a seemingly impenetrable conversation about back-in-the-day days and how events like the Depression and World War II affected business.

"Well," Charlotte shrugged defeatedly. "I guess we're on our home."

"And you're sure your father won't mind?"

"Nah. I know him. Plus, nothing seemed to really change a lot since I left."

"Charlotte?" A voice called. In surprise, Charlotte turned around.

"Gabby?" Charlotte gawked, and towards her and Jeffrey ran a short stocky girl with auburn wavy hair. The two ladies hugged each other tightly.

"Golly, Charlotte! Six years on the other side of the Atlantic and you didn't get an accent? That's incredible!"

"Gabs, it's so good to see you again." Charlotte looked a few feet away from her and remembered the Brit. "Oh, Gabby; I'd like you to meet someone." She cleared her throat. "Gabby, this is Jeffrey, Jeffrey Hawkinson; we went to college together. Jeffrey, this Gabby, Gabby Denny; we went to school together since we were eight."

"Hi," Gabby greeted, giving his hand a firm shake. "Nice to meet ya. Welcome to our neck of the woods."

"My pleasure." He replied, a bit unsure.

"Even though Charlotte's graduated, are you still going to school?"

"Yes, I'm receiving my Ph.D. next summer. In dance."

"Dance? That's swell!" Jeffrey smiled. "Ooh! Which reminds me…" The American put her fingers in her mouth to let out a shrill whistle. "Jenny! Maureen! Guess who I found!" A tall slim blonde and a brown-haired girl wearing a work uniform galloped out of an ice cream parlor.

"Oh my gosh! You're back! You're here!" The two other girls squealed, squeezing their friend in a tight homecoming hug.

"And it looks like you brought a chum with you, eh?" Jenny asked.

"Sure did, darn right about it." Gabby assured.

"Awesome!" Maureen lightly clapped her hands together. "I'm still working right now, but five servings of ice cream? On me! C'mon!"

After one dish of ice cream each and chatter for about an hour, Jeffrey and Charlotte went on their way. Apparently, Mr. Campbell was still engaged in his conversations, so accidently-on purpose deliberately, the two explored Charlotte's childhood world.

"That's where I used to live." She pointed at a one-story house painted light yellow with dark green trim. "We moved in there when I was five. I barely remember that."

"Look." Jeffrey pointed at a sign. "It's for sale."

"And it looks like today's the day people can go take a look." She added. "And it looks like who ever lived there moved their stuff out. You wanna take a look?"

"Why not?"

After a courteous greeting to a standing-by realtor and getting permission, they stepped into the foyer which turned into the parlor. In Charlotte's mind, what was lost in each room was found and in their place. Her dad's high-back chair, smelling of pipe smoke, and her mum's rocking chair, scented with vanilla, sat by the fireplace, a round red-and-blue rug lying in between them near the hearth. An utterly annoying yet classic cuckoo clock hung next to the cabinet. A dining table covered with a fine tablecloth and cushioned chairs for four, later on three, sat divided from the kitchen by a half wall.

They returned into the parlor where the "guide" led her "tourist" down the hallway. The first room on the left was Joseph's room. The past came to life again in her mind when a twin bed hidden under a thick quilt stood against the wall decorated with posters of war planes and pictures and pennants of favorite baseball teams and players. In front of a window standing alone was a slightly cluttered wooden desk. Two medium-sized shelves lined with books hung above.

In her room on the second right door up til the time she was eighteen, a twin bed with a plush white headboard sat in the middle of the room, an also white feminine somewhat old-fashioned small round table serving as a nightstand. A two-column, three-row wooden dresser topped with a music box and twenty Nancy Drew books stood on the right wall while a cushy blue backless chair sat next to a window.

After the tour of the empty Campbell mansion, as he would put it sometimes, Mr. Campbell relieved himself and his friends from their long discussions and found his daughter and her friend. At a nice dinner with some potato soup and rosemary, Charlotte and her family surprised Jeffrey with a chocolate cake for his birthday and gave him two newly released science books as a gift.

The following days, even the first, in America around Pennsylvania, New York, and surrounding states were proven to be quite an experience for each and every one of the six voyagers, whether they returned home or not.

**This next chapter is gonna be quite interesting. You'll just have to wait and see, my pretties…(evil smile) **


	17. The Fly or It's Only a Movie

**Perfect timing for this…"HAPPY FIFTY YEARS, DR. C! Yes, we know you screwed up that fateful day, Wednesday September 12****th**** '62, but we love you just the way you are!" Okay, movin' on. Dan, it's gonna be one long chapter, this one. **

It's Only a Movie

"Charlotte, where are we going?" Jeffrey asked, chuckling unsurely, as Charlotte pulled him into the taxi.

"Philadelphia, please. By the Capital Cinema." Charlotte called to the cabby.

"Sure thing, miss." The engine revved and drove down alongside the Delaware River.

"Charlotte, what's this all about?" Jeffrey asked again, watching the sun set over the low hills.

"Well, I thought we'd have a grand finale for our trip."

"And I take it as we're watching a film."

"Mm-hm."

An hour later, the taxi stopped along a sidewalk in Philadelphia, and Charlotte paid and tipped the cabby. Inside, two tickets were bought, and the two recipients found consecutive chairs in the theater room.

"_The Fly_, hm?" Jeffrey repeated the title. "Science fiction, I take it."

"Yep. You've done this, right?" Charlotte asked once they got settled. "'Cause I heard you say you went to America when you were a kid."

"Mm, yes. I forget what the film was though."

"I might remember. When I was a kid, you could get into the theater for a dime and get popcorn and/or licorice for an extra fifteen cents. There'd be broadcasts of news, much like television, about the war like USO shows, battlefields, war efforts for home, and lots more."

"Fascinating."

"I know, right?"

The lights began to dim, and the giant screen lit up with the logo and traditional fanfare of Twentieth Century Fox. On came a suspenseful music score with the introducing credits.

"Vincent Price. Cool. Gabby and I have always liked him."

**The scene began with a subtle nocturnal back alley between a factory and a mansion where a night watchman began his duties. A whirring of a machine sounded quietly. Two sights caught his attention: a woman running away from the machine, a hydraulic press, and a man's head trapped under it, blood spilling from the sides. **

A good deal of the viewers cringed at the gory sight, a lot of them hoping not to lose their lunch in their plush seats.

**Francois DeLambre received two phone calls. **

"**Francois," The woman, his sister-in-law Helene started to say shakily. "I've killed Andre…Please help me. Call the police an-come quickly. I-I-I j-just-" She hung up, beginning to cry. **

** The other came from the watchman, who shared what he witnessed. "Something terrible has happened." He blurted in a strong French accent. "A man is dead. His head is under the press. And I saw a woman running-running away. I looked. I think it was Madame DeLambre."**

** Francois phoned for a known inspector and the police. "...Set to 50 tons; impact: zero." He read the press' gauge at the factory, the inspector at his side. "That's level with the bed...She didn't know how to operate the press." The body was identified as Andre's. Mortified and heartbroken, He expressed his feelings and wondered why Helene would do such a thing. "That's the stroke count." He later noted. "Whoever did this to Andre…it reads 'two.' They did it twice!" **

** At the DeLambre home, Francois and the inspector questioned Helene and her thoughts toward her husband's murder. What happened was quite clear but why was still a mystery. As she and the inspector conversed, her attention turned to a fly buzzing around, completely captivating her. After leaving her, the inspector was led by Francois to Andre's laboratory under the house. The once grand lab was now a great mess like a tornado had come through and destroyed it. With nothing else to say other than what Andre did for their company DeLambre-Frere, the inspector proposed the only cause of Helene's actions was insanity. Francois informed the inspector of Andre and Helene's feelings about the sacredness of life, how "they would never harm anything, not even a fly."**

A few chuckles at the sadistic humor came from random spots throughout the audience. "Nice." Charlotte whispered.

**In her room, Helene rested while a nurse hired by the inspector looked after her. Helene did show well significant signs of insanity with her comments about the world around her. Again, a fly caught her attention, and she screamed and ran out of bed in a relapse when the nurse swatted the insect to its death. **

_Aiyiyiy. _Jeffrey and Charlotte thought in unison along with surrounding viewers.

**Francois and the inspector, shortly after Helene's relapse, had a light debate about Helene's proposed insanity. Francois, after the mystery began, was looking after Philippe who was unaware of his father's death and was told he was away. During dinner, the boy asked, "Do flies live a long time?...Because I saw that fly that Mummy was looking for again…Its head is white instead of black and it has a funny sort of leg. It was on your desk this morning." He said afterwards that the day his dad left was when his mom started looking for it. "I had caught it," He continued. "But Mummy made me let it go. But then later she wanted me to find it again. She changed her mind; you know how women are." **

"Smart boy." Jeffrey chuckled. "Sexist but smart."

**Francois later on that evening visited Helene. She proposed the same question her son did earlier. He announced that the fly she searched for had dwelled in his study room. Anxious, she looked up. "You know now." She said. **

** When being asked what this mess was all about, Helene claimed that Andre wouldn't want her to tell. Knowing enough and having enough, Francois leads her into telling her story, lying that he has the fly. She agrees to under the condition that he destroys it afterwards and confesses that she was pretending to be insane for the sake of Philippe.**

** "This is not a confession." She warned as soon as the inspector arrived. "Although I killed my husband, I am not a murderess. I simply carried out his last wish."**

** A few months earlier on, as she narrated, the DeLambres were a happy family. Andre brought Helene down into the then-nearly perfect laboratory, more than anxious to show her something. She wandered around the complex and clean apparatus.**

"Fascinating." Jeffrey whispered. 

** "A completely new line of research." He announced. **

** "Let me guess…" Helene said. "The permanent battery." Andre shook his head. "Not the portable reactor?" **

** "I'll show you…Helene, you're the first to see a miracle." He placed a pretty ceramic ashtray inside a glass chamber and quickly walked to an engine, turning knobs and flipping switches. A timer was set for fifteen seconds as he ran back to his wife, handing her a pair of sunglass-like goggles. "Now watch the box." **

"If I could only get notes." Jeffrey huffed quietly.

"Paper? I brought my notebook." Charlotte offered, searching for and picking up a pen from her purse.

"Thank you." He courteously flipped past the filled pages to the first clean one he saw. Watching carefully and glancing between the screen and paper, he wrote furiously.

**The whirring of the engine sped up. A **_**ding**_** sounded off. The countdown had begun. Three sets of neon lights connected to a generator flashed. A light blue grew from above the dish and filled the chamber and eventually the room, a mechanical roar raging from under the chamber. The couple removed their goggles and looked at the chamber. **

** "It's gone." Helene gawked. Andre opened up a sliding wall to the other half of the lab where a similar chamber stood. And there inside was the same dish. "It's the same one. Have you turned magician?" **

** "In a way." Andre replied. "For a split second, an infinite small part of a second, this was disintegrated. For one little moment, it no longer existed, only atoms travelling through space at the speed of light. Then here a moment later, it reintegrated into the shape of an ashtray." Helene refused to believe it. **

** "Doesn't sound possible, does it? But it is true. Take television, now what happens? A stream of electrons, sound and picture impulses are transmitted through wires in the air. A TV camera is the disintegrator; your set unscrambles or reintegrates electrons back into pictures and sounds. **

** "It's no trick?" She stood puzzled. **

** "No." The search of a new world seemed to be born until Helene pointed out a flaw on the ashtray. Disturbed, Andre dived back deep into his work, reviewing and rewriting notes, laws, and formulas all inside the impenetrable bubble called focus. After modifications, he mastered to perfectly transport a newspaper but failed to do so with the family cat, all the feline atoms lost forever. **

All the while during the setups and testing, Jeff had already written through three pages and had almost run Charlotte's pen dry.

** Finally, a few weeks later, Andre's contraption proved successful and complete. Thus he and Helene celebrated with dinner, a site at the ballet, and reintegrated champagne. The world seems at its best again. **

** Andre pursues his works again and leaves a note not to disturb him. Philippe attempts to show his mother a fly with a white head and leg. Reminded of his father's disapproval, he releases the fly from an empty matchbox. **

** Along with the note, Helene notices her husband's odd behaviors about having nothing to do with the world outside his lab. She called for him only to receive a piece of paper slid from under the door. The note read: **

** "Helene, I've had some trouble…"**

** "Trouble?" Helene repeated. "Andre, what's the matter? Answer me."**

** "I'm counting on you not to lose your nerve; for only you can help me. I've had a serious accident. But I'm not in danger at the moment although it's a matter of life or death…It's no good calling to me or saying anything. I can't answer; I can't speak. You've got to do exactly and very carefully what I tell you. Knock three times to show you understand and agree then fetch me a bowl of milk laced with rum." **

** Stuffing the note in her dress pocket, Helene hurried up the stairs to the kitchen and prepared her husband's beverage. Apparently her clumsiness caught the attention of the family housekeeper, Emma, and left her puzzled, grumbling as she cleaned up the mess made in the kitchen. **

"That is one awesome maid." Charlotte whispered, slightly pointing at the screen.

**Another note was found once she returned. "When you knock, I'll open the door. Walk over to my desk and put the milk on it. Then go into the other lab and try to find a fly. You will easily recognize it; its head is white…" The memory of her son with that captured insect terrorized her. "Don't hurt it; just give it to me. Before you come in you must promise to obey me implicitly. Don't look at me. Talking is useless; I cannot answer. Knock three times to show I have your promise. My life is in your hands."**

** Note number two stuffed in her pocket, Helene signaled with the three knocks. She stepped inside and followed Andre's wishes, setting the milk on the desk and going into the other lab. Andre seemed the same only with a black cloth over his head. He served himself his drink, lifting the cloth and making an odd slurping sound. **

"Notice." Jeffrey pointed out. "His left hand is hidden in his pocket."

** Doing what she could for help, Helene developed a Twenty-Questions-like method of communication: knocking once for 'yes' and twice for 'no.' She confessed that Philippe caught a fly similar to the one desired but made him let it go. In surprise, Andre accidently withdrew the hand from his lab coat pocket. **

"Oh, god, Jeff." Charlotte muttered. "Good eye. And perfect timing too.

**Terrified, Helene screamed and ran out of the lab to the refuge of the staircase, weeping over her husband's misfortune. Another note was typed out as she recovered herself. "Come back in morning. Will type explanation. Need you fresh and strong tomorrow. Poor darling. Sorry." **

** "I'm alright now, darling." She said shaking but confidently. "Don't worry. I'll find that fly." Wishing her husband a good-night, she retired to her room. She woke up the next morning feeling fresh, tired but fresh, only to remember Andre's predicament. Bringing down his breakfast tray, Helene received another note. **

** "Remember the ashtray experiment? I've had a similar accident. I transmitted myself successfully yesterday morning. But in a second experiment, a fly which I did not notice was in the disintegrator with me. When we reintegrated again, our atoms were mixed. And now my only hope is to find the fly. I've got to go through the machine once more and then pray that our atoms untangle. **

** "If you can't find it, I'll have to destroy myself."**

** Helene offered to call Andre's fellow scientists for help which Andre profusely protested against. She then asks for the help of Emma and Philippe. Near twilight, they managed to find it in the parlor only for it to escape through the window and out of the garden. "I don't know what's gotten into this house." Emma commented, frustrated.**

A few people of the audience chuckled again at the wisecracker maid.

**Depressed and down in the dumps, Helene gives a negative status report but tries to express hope. Andre served himself dinner mostly under the refuge of the black material, using the fly arm only when needed. Helene was dismissed again into the other lab and received another note.**

** "If you had caught the fly, you would not be reading this. I know you will never catch it now; it's hopeless. There are things man should never experiment with. Now I must destroy everything, all evidence, even myself. No one must ever know what I discovered; it's too dangerous. I've thought of a way; it's not easy, but I need your help." **

** Mustered, afraid, but determined, she ran into the first lab. "You can still reason, Andre! You've no right to destroy yourself; you mustn't think about it! You've still got your intelligence; you're still a man with a soul. You've no right to destroy yourself!" **

Little did anyone in that theater know that those words would never impact until later on.

**Andre began to type another message, this one being unclear but understandable. "Can't wait. Can't think easy since morning. Brain says strange things now. Feel my will going. Already strain very difficult think straight." During this, the fly arm strangely rose up against the human arm into a fight for Andre's will. **

** After being deprived of more time to find the fly and calling for help, Helene proposed transportation through the machine in the hopes the results will turn out similar to the ashtray experiment. Despite showing the logic for the need of the fly on the lab's chalkboard, Andre followed through. The disintegration and reintegration performed perfectly, Andre still in one piece. **

** "It has worked, hasn't it?" Helene asked, full of anticipation and glee. "Oh, and you'll be alright now! I know it worked!" **

** She tore off the black cloth to reveal something expected yet not. **

** Andre's head was gone, and in its place…**

** The head of a fly. **

Jeffrey and Charlotte sat bewildered, somewhat wide-eyed and wide-mouthed, in silence at the far beyond terrifying site just revealed as Helene screamed. As the camera's angle surreally turned into the scaled vision of a fly. They weren't children to cover their eyes with their hands; they could only stare. The teleportation chambers were destroyed, blueprints and other apparatus were

**Out of shock and fear, Helene passed out. Andre scooped up his wife and carried her to a small simple bed next to the desk. His tenderly stroking her face soon succumbed to the fly-will-controlled mad subhuman-like destruction of his laboratory. The teleportation chambers, supporting apparatus and blue prints were destroyed either by severe blows with an axe or other past inventions or burnt into ashes. Regaining his human will, he retained the black cloth to his head. He turned to the chalkboard and began to write, even as his fly's will interfered. **

** "No use now." He wrote. "Help me ****but don't come near me****." His penmanship became sloppier as his new conquering will attacked more. "Kill fly, please. Love you." **

"Sad." Charlotte whispered. "Sweet but sad."

"Very sad." Jeffrey agreed, thinking also about the loss of a great laboratory.

**Andre led Helene to the factory through another staircase down the same alley. There he turned on the hydraulic press, the machine whirring to life, pulled a throttle, turned a knob or two, and pointed at a red button to Helene. During what seemed to be the last of his human will, he signaled her to press that button. Seeing the intimidating press come down, down to kill her husband, she rushed to her husband's side. It was shown that Andre's fly will had conquered once and for all as he tried to pull her in, making her scream. **

** She turned her face away as the significant **_**BOOM! **_**pronounced Andre dead. Mortified, Helene couldn't help but notice that the fly arm, the one remaining sign of this great accident, had yet to been crushed. Remembering and obeying her husband's last wish, she lifted the press again and let it down to destroy the fly arm. Her story ended with another **_**BOOM!**_

** Before the somewhat baffled inspector could leave, an overwhelmed Helene questioned whether it was wrong to destroy the thing—a fly-headed human—or not. He replied assuredly that she wasn't wrong. The inspector refused to believe a word of the story, rubbing it off as science fiction. Yet Francois stood up for what Helene had narrated and served a rebuttal. Nonetheless, the inspector, still convinced Helene is insane, was ready to take off to arrest Helene for the charge of murder.**

** "But, Inspector," Francois again protested. "It might be the truth…there must be something we can do to prove."**

** "There is." The inspector said subtly. "Show me the fly." **

** Defeated, Francois sulked on a garden bench, a distant clock tower banging, unaware of a high-pitched voice crying, "Help me! Help me!" The inspector arrived with policemen and paramedics and informed Helene of her warrant for arrest. Confused, she reminded him of what he told her, and Francois confessed that he had lied to her about having a fly, that he had never seen it. During the process of taking her away, Philippe arrives to see his mother only to be told no.**

** In the attempt to distract his nephew, Francois has a light chat with Philippe. The boy announced boringly that he saw the fly again. The conversation carried on when—**

** "You saw the fly?" Francois asked anxiously, grabbing the child's shoulders. "Where?"**

** "It's in a web." Philippe replied. "The spider's gonna get it by the bench in the garden." Francois rushed up the staircase and dragged the inspector outside to the garden. **

** "Help me! Please help me!" The same high-pitched voice cried from a frightened pale white face attached to a fly's body, Andre's now-small arm protruding on the left. The spider drew in closer, ready to devour its prey; the pleas grew louder. **

No one knows how many intrigued, petrified faces filled the theater, how many tightly squeezed hands, how many quick deep breaths.

**As the spider prepared to bite the human-headed fly, the inspector grabbed a rock and crushed the arachnid and insect. **

** Overwhelmed and shaking, the inspector sat down on the bench. "I didn't believe it, but you saw it." He said quickly. "You saw it, didn't you?" **

** "Yes." Francois replied with a mutual but calmer tone. "I-I saw it. I thought she was…"**

** "As God is my witness, I saw the thing. It's unbelievable; I shall never forget that scream as long as I live." Francois straightened up and looked at the inspector.**

** "You've committed murder just as much as Helene did. You killed a fly with a human head; she killed a human with a fly head. If she murdered, so did you." **

** "I know." They conversed and theorized about what could've happened. "Yes, it could've been suicide." The inspector finally agreed. **

** Shortly afterwards, Helene, Philippe and Francois returned to their daily lives. Philippe, now knowing his father was dead, asked his uncle for an answer.**

** "Well, Philippe," He began, sitting down. "He died because of his work. He was like, like an explorer in the wild country where no one had ever been before. He was searching for the truth; he almost found a great truth, but for one instant he was careless."**

** "That's what killed him?" Philippe asked, intrigued by what he heard. **

** "Searching for the truth is the most important work in the whole world…and the most dangerous." **

** "I'd like that. I'd like to be an explorer like him. Will you help me, Uncle Francois?" **

** "Yes." **

** "You're a dear one, Francois." Helene said tenderly. "So kind and thoughtful. Thank you." **

** "Here I am." Philippe announced, ready for a trip with his now surrogate father. **

**"Well, come along, you two. I'll see you off." Helene said as the fanfare ended the film. **

The audience began evacuating towards the exits. Jeffrey stood up slowly as if he had been sitting there for years and decided to stand up again.

"Wow." Charlotte gasped, filled with mixed emotions. She looked at Jeffrey. Are you okay?" She asked, lightly shaking his arm. "Jeff?"

"Oh, err, of course." Jeffrey responded, smiling and coming out of his slight daze. He took Charlotte's hand and followed the last of the audience.

"How did you like it?" She asked.

"Oh, very much, indeed. The story itself was extraordinary, but the disintegrator-reintegrator device really puzzled me. Do you remember me telling you my idea for the—ahem!" He bent down by her ear. "…survival of humanity?" She nodded her head. "I need more options of performing that successfully. What do you think of teleportation?"

"As long as it's possible." She smiled.

"And as long as it...works." He added hesitantly.

"What?" Charlotte received a blank somewhat embarrassed glance from her date, and he quickly turned his eyes toward his shoes. She bit her lip in slight frustration, until the taxi arrived. _What is he so worried about? _She thought. Jeffrey courteously opened the door for her and slid in after she did.

A few minutes later, her head lifted, and she took his hand and looked him in the eyes.

"Jeff, just like all those other monster stories, it's only a movie. A mere piece of someone's imagination pulled together and put onto a roll of film." He smiled; she was right after all.

"You're absolutely right, Charlotte." He took her other hand. "And thank you."

"For what? Tonight?"

"Well, not only that, but for an idea."

"My pleasure, Dr. Hawkinson," He smiled.

"Oh, not yet. Not for about a year." He paused. "Of course, nothing like Dr. DeLambre's freak accident could really happen. Please, we're in reality."

"True. What could happen?"

The taxi pulled up to the hotel. Jeffrey and Charlotte quietly hurried through the foyer and up the staircase as to not wake the others up.

"Good night, Charlotte."

"Good night, Jeff." Before they could separate, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Pleasant dreams, my dear." He whispered before he walked down the hall to retire in his room.

Slightly stunned, Charlotte walked to her room, occasionally touching that cheek as if it had been slapped. A sci-fi thriller…finding another concept for a friend's experiment…being kissed…_Gosh,_ Charlotte thought, crawling into bed. _What a great way to end a vacation. _

**Thought it'd be cool if Jeff he saw what he was parodied after. Crazy, huh? XD Still, I recommend the film. Rent it on Amazon, iTunes, whatever's available. **

**I just thought I'd say this. I'm sorry, gang. When I started I thought I'd have this finished (if not almost) by now. But life got in the way with depression, a really big day of my life to prepare for, busy school year, and getting prescription medication that has the side effect of lack of motivation. Thanks for bearing with me. You all rock! **


	18. Last Days

** A couple weeks ago had a nightmare about getting a nasty review on this story, which brought me back to it. And don't fret, peoples; I'm also on the update for Invincible Adversary, Invisible Yet Not, and hopefully Area 51 Triad (if I can get any ideas; I wanna get out of the emo/angst/regular and more into the funnies).**

The final days of May, 1959…

Two more weeks left…two more weeks…the thought of it rang in his mind. Like an addiction, he couldn't get away from it. The thoughts and actions of the family and close friends of his life were mutually filled with the message. So much more than just calendars, clocks, sunrises, and sunsets, whether they be abstract or concrete, trumpeted what was to be so far the biggest day of his life. Like a bride at a wedding, his name—mainly title would be changed for the future to come. After eight years of hard work, late nights, early mornings, great deals of solitary study, and crazy-as-crazy-gets research, the time had come. He had proven himself in the eyes of the greatest dancers in Great Britain to be worthy of the honor of being one of them.

His family knew everything about it almost the same second it happened. They were all so proud of him, especially his father. He was probably the first Hawkinson to earn a doctorate in the field most revered and practiced in that family. After all, one doesn't get a PhD in dance every day.

So, whom would he tell the big news to? He wanted to be announced among close relations as not to be the same as having this subject be a headline in a newspaper. He could tell Harold, but his friend had his hands full with three-month-old twin girls, so he might have to wait for the chance. He sat at his bedroom desk, the outside rain beating against the window pane. One could swear it felt so good to be home. He pulled out his notebook to overview an old friend he had been focusing on for the past four years…survival.

_Hello, long time no see. _The most recent page, half-filled, seemed to greet. _Any ideas? _

"No…" Jeffrey droned back. A door opened and shut, and someone downstairs took a few steps and sounded like he or she was putting away some things. A gentle moderate series of footsteps were coming up the staircase, and he turned his head down to his work, pretending not to notice. An arm wrapped around his shoulder like a boa constrictor, and soft lips pressed against his cheek in a kiss. He turned to face his mum, his heroine. "Hello, Mum." He softly greeted.

She glanced over his shoulder at the page with formulas, graphs and crude illustrations, her soft breathing gliding onto the back of her only son's brunette head.

"Wow…" She quietly gaped.

Amelia was away at the University of Southampton studying to be a lawyer and destined to be there for a few years. Their father, at the moment, worked the weekdays eight hours a day from morning to early afternoon. After a week or two of that, it still felt pretty weird for it just to be him and his mum most of the day.

He looked up at her and smiled. She sadly smiled back.

"What, Mum?" He noticed the bit of disappointment in her facial expression. "Anything wrong?"

"I'm sorry…" She sighed. "I'm sorry I couldn't see to it that you couldn't be educated at a university in physics like you always wanted."

"It's a family honor, Mum; please don't be down about it."

"I know, Jeffrey. But I will say this much: I'm proud, more proud than of you earning a doctorate, that no matter what you kept at it. Look at you; you know and discovered so much and you didn't need to go anywhere to learn."

"You flatter me, Mum." He beamed.

"Oh, shush." She playfully dismissed and again kissed his cheek. "Oh, I ran into Mr. Campbell, Charlotte's dad, today at the store."

"Really? How are they?"

"Alright, I suppose. Mrs. Boyer, Mrs. Campbell's mother, passed away three days ago."

"Yes…" His eyebrows furrowed. "I remember hearing that she wasn't doing so well about a month or two after the trip to America. Any word on a funeral or memorial service perhaps?"

"Mm." She nodded. "Tomorrow around noon. It's at some little chapel about a mile or two from where the Campbells live."

"I'm going." He mumbled.

~The following day around noon~

He was dressed in his best but nothing flashy as he was attending a solemn occasion: a grey suit with a white blouse and forest green tie. His family was rather busy today so it was just himself. He stepped inside the church building. Despite it being a small service, there seemed to be several people in the foyer and sanctuary. There were people he knew and didn't know. The first face he met was Mr. Campbell's.

"Thanks for coming, son." He shook the young man's hand. "I-It really means a lot to us."

Jeffrey nodded his head with a "You're welcome, sir," and a solemn smile on his face. He made his way into the sanctuary in the search for a seat on a pew. He looked over and recognized a familiar face, holding a black-haired wriggling infant. She was talking to a woman of her age with her hair pinned up in a snug bun and holding another baby, an auburn-headed sleeping beauty. He recognized the three of the four to be Allison and her daughters Lenora and Emily, but who was the other woman?

"Hello, Allison." He greeted softly in regards to the melancholy environment.

"Hi, Jeffrey." Allison waved, doing her best to hold Lenora in place while doing so. "Harold's working today so he's not here…sorry."

"It's fine. You may tell him I said 'hello.'"

"Hi, Jeff." The other lady greeted.

"Hello," He replied absent-mindedly. "How are—Charlotte…"

He was stunned and a bit dazzled by the change in her appearance. She didn't look like a royal neither did she look like she just crawled out from under a bridge. It was hard to discern whether her smile was in "hello" or in admiration of his befuddled response. She finally said, "Excuse me for a bit…" Before leaving she gestured at Emily who was resting against her chest. "Can he?" She asked her bosom friend. The mommy nodded her head, giving permission for the genius to hold the small paternal look-alike.

"She looks like her father." Jeffrey commented. A slow hymn gently emanated from a small organ in the right corner near the platform. "I believe it's time." Everyone seated themselves down, the Campbells in the front right row.

Mr. Campbell made his way to the small wooden pulpit, adjusting his black tie and clearing his throat, and unfolded a piece of paper.

"I'd like to thank you for coming today…," He began. "…to celebrate Mrs. Boyer's life, the life of Helen June Keyes-Boyer. "We'd like to start out this service with a stanza or two of a hymn some of you may remember,…

"_Nearer my God to thee,_

_Nearer to thee,"_

The small regiment joined in with the middle-aged man's croon, some even harmonizing.

"_Even though it be a cross that raiseth me, _

"_Still all my song shall be,_

"_Nearer to thee…"_

The next moments were spent acknowledging and reminiscing the deceased woman's life how she was born in the mid-1880s in Bristol, England and grew up in a family of two parents and five children…how she married young farmer at age seventeen, moved to Hatfield and had three girls by the time she turned twenty-five, the youngest being Jane…how only six months after the end of World War I she and her family moved to America for a better life…how she loved the idols of her life—husband, children…and at last how she spent the final year of her life, returning home at the end of World War Two and spending it with her family. Another hymn, _The Eastern Gate, _and a dismissal prayer by a local reverend finished the service.

The Campbells were showered with handshakes, hugs, and offerings of flowers and treasured keepsakes in honor of Grandmum Boyer. Luckily at the end, Charlotte managed to stay out of most of it as she was quite overwhelmed by all the eyes turned on her family, only getting the occasional farewells and sympathies.

"Bye, Al; take care now." She waved, watching her friend drive home. She turned around and jumped a bit; Jeffrey was still there. She cleared a throat and forced a smile on her face for her former classmate. "So…er…how are you?"

"Alright, I suppose." He replied. How he wanted to express his excitements and news of his degree; however one would know now wasn't a good time. "I'm sorry I didn't greet you earlier on."

"It's okay; no harm done. How goes the PhD?" _C'mon, Lot! _She coached herself. _Think happy thoughts. You know, like Peter Pan? Yeah…yeah…you got it. _

"Everything's worked out." He tried so hard not to explode into ecstasy and clenched his fists in anticipation. "I'm graduating…this upcoming month." Hopefully this gospel would change the forced smile. "…on the fourteenth."

"Wow, nice…" The smile changed; it did the trick. "Congratulations…I'm pretty sure you'll make quite the Dr. Hawkinson as you are the one and only."

"Thank you very much, my dear." _Drat._ He thought. _Why did I just say that? _"No offense but it's not like you'll ever see that day come."

"I will…I might…"

"I don't understand."

"Jeff,..." She bit down on her lip and did her best to stand, think and speak tall. "I'm leaving."

His smile of anticipation and gratefulness instantly turned into a subtle gawk.

"I'm going back home…'Ladies, our work here is done,' my dad said that last night. My grandmum was the only reason I left America. Her husband, my granddad, died only a month before I left."

"When do you leave?" He asked, trying not to show the loads of grief and despair he hid inside.

"The fifteenth…in the morning, the latest by noon." The funeral coordinator pulled out a key from his pocked, signaling the two to leave the building. They stopped outside under the barely sheltered front steps.

"Allison already knows and has for most of the time since she and I have been friends. I wish I would've said something sooner; sorry."

He could only be silent, dumbfounded, and bewildered. It all felt like he was at her side on her deathbed.

"I've loved my life here…with Allison, you, college, dancing…it's been the time of my life." Her despairing frown turned into a sad and subtle but enlightened smile. At the sound of her dad calling to leave, she said. "I guess that's me."

"Good-bye…" He said softly. The two embraced each other in a hug.

"I promise I'll be at the graduation ceremony."

"And I'll see you there."

"_Lottie!" _was heard again among the now-pouring rain. She looked at him as though she was about to say something more, but turned away and trotted to the shelter of the family car.

~June 13th…~

Jeffrey filled out a second page from his notebook for another experiment, this one rather not of science but something else…something that the average everyday person would write down.

_**Pawn shops**__..._He thought and wrote down in unison. _No…—__**too risky**__…hmmm…__**department stores**__…won't work…__**too expensive**__…__**old boxes in **__[the]__**attic…**__now there's an idea._

"Uncle Jeff?" A little boy's voice called.

"Whatcha got there?" A five-year-old boy's voice asked. Jeffrey felt his nephew Cecil climb onto the back of the chair and wrap his arms around his neck. Andrew, newly four, set his small hands on the desk and bumped his uncle's right hand, making the dashes for the "t"'s in "attic" reach to the edge of the page.

"Well, boys," He turned to ruffle Andrew's head of brown hair with his hand until his nephew frowned. "I'm trying to find a gift for someone, a friend of mine."

"Is it for their birthday?" Andrew asked, anticipating another birthday present.

"Mm-mm." He shook his head.

"And I don't think it's for Christmas." Cecil said.

"True,…It's more of a…" He mentally browsed quickly. "A farewell gift, should I say. They're going away soon."

"Hey, Cecil, Andy!" They heard Mrs. Hawkinson call. "Mummy and Daddy may not be here, but Grandmum says it's bedtime." Mildred and Nathan were out on a date and wouldn't be back until later on tonight, so the Hawkinsons were watching the couple's two sons.

"Aw…" The brothers moaned in unison as they dragged themselves to their grandmother. "Good night, Uncle Jeff."

"Good night, boys." He hugged his nephews good night and returned to his list.

_Let's seeeee…_he continued. _Attic (continued)…attic…_

He paced his room deep in thought until about ten-thirty. Something snapped. A solution at last! He bent over his desk and scrawled_**—ask Mum and/or Dad.**__.._

The light turned out in the hallway. _Out of the question. _He thought as he crossed out the second half of solution number three. _"Jeff, get some sleep; you've got a big day tomorrow." _He imagined his mum saying. He laid down, still in what he wore today, and waited until midnight. He snuck into Amelia's room, thankfully next to his, and pulled a rope with a ring at the end, releasing a collapsible wooden ladder.

Up he climbed inside, the old musty smell filling his nostrils. The only light in there was the moon shining through a single round window. Boxes and old furniture covered with sheets being the occupants, the sight of this seemingly forlorn place brought back memories. While the Hawkinsons couldn't have a tree house due to rationing and the lack of wood and trees nearby, this large compartment served just as well. Up there served as a fort, a place for leisure such as the two daughters playing dolls and the only son reading science books or looking at constellations through a now broken telescope.

He opened the first box: filled with only a few but all-the-way-filled notebooks of research from his childhood and youth and a slim elegant diary written by a teenage Mildred. The second: not-so-crammed photo albums starting in the late 20's when his parents started courting. The third (finally): old Hawkinson family memoirs…family portraits, grandfathers' wallets, grandmothers' jewelry…wait…

A small box was pulled out, a slip of old yellow paper saying, _Adwina Mildred Hawkinson_…his father's paternal grandmum. He remembered her story, as his dad narrated it years ago. Grandmum Adwina married a Michael Hawkinson sometime in the mid 1800s. Only two years later at the age of twenty-four, Michael was killed in an accident while walking home from work, leaving Adwina to parent their firstborn and only son William. Through thick and thin, the mother and son managed to avoid poverty and see William grow up and start a family of his own.

Delicately he lifted the lid to reveal a ring.

**Yay! Another chapter! And please, I beg of you; read and review The Invincible Adversary. **

**PS: Who do you think should voice Charlotte? A)Anne Hathaway B)Sandra Bullock (did Miriam in _Prince of Egypt_) C)Julia Louis-Drefus (did Atta in _Bug's Life_) D)Drew Barrymore**


	19. Day of Departure

**Man, am I on a roll or what? Motivation has reached its peak! More power! MUAHAHAHAHA!**

_"Jeffrey Hawkinson…University of Northampton…Doctorate of Philosophy…Dance…Sunday, June fourteenth in the year of nineteen fifty-nine…" _

Those words captured in a prestigious manner on a paper topped with the University's crest now hung in a brand new wooden frame on the hallway walls along with the performing arts memorabilia of the Hawkinsons. The family beamed with pride for a member to achieve such an honor. Jeffrey beamed with pleasure that he made his father extremely proud. Tired and overwhelmed from the big day, he reclined on his bed against the wall, carefully spinning the little box containing his great-grandmother's ring. Every time he opened that snug little case to see the bejeweled band, his heart became heavy.

"Anything wrong, son?" A voice asked out of nowhere all of a sudden.

"Oh…hello, Dad." Jeffrey smiled nervously, setting down the box. "Everything's good." The shaking grin immediately died when he saw the rare sparkle coming from the middle-aged man's blue eyes. Mildred had always been her father's daughter, Jeffrey bonded best with his mum, and Amelia, well, she bounced between her parents and siblings. Even if it would only be once, it felt wonderful to be the apple of his father's eye.

"What's that there in your hand? May I have a look?"

"Of course, Dad." Mr. Hawkinson sat himself down next to his son. Without the little paper, he could recognize the box.

"Grandmum Hawkinson's ring?" He light-heartedly chuckled, assuring an again smiling nervously Jeffrey that he wasn't busted. "Mildred's almost a complete repeat of her. I'm sure you would've liked her; quite the amazing woman." The nervous smile turned to a sad one when the lid popped open again. "Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

There was no point in lying to that guy because he could sense a lie almost like a dog with a scent, so he responded, "I didn't see her?"

"Miss Campbell?"

The graduate nodded. "She promised to meet me there…and she's leaving tomorrow…"

"I'm sorry, Jeffrey." Mr. Hawkinson looked at his watch, his expression signaling it was a late hour. "Good night." His father gave him a one-armed hug and turned out the hallway light before retiring in his bedroom with his wife. A small but steady beating began to pelt the window panes as rain began to pour down.

_Yes…leaving tomorrow…_He thought glumly, exchanging his slacks for a pair of pajama pants. He turned out the light and threw the blankets over him. But he couldn't sleep.

_I don't want her to go…but if she desires to return to America, then…then I'll let her go…and I'll go on with life. _

_I…I…love her…._

~Hatfield…~

Every piece of their belongings, from beds to blouses, was packed away in trunks and boxes. The only things standing in the vacant house were the three Campbells and one suitcase each. The family sat on the sans-chair porch, sheltered from the pouring rain.

"So you saw Jeff?" Mr. Campbell asked.

"Yes," Charlotte said solemnly.

"And how was he?" Mrs. Campbell asked.

"He seemed very happy. We said good-bye there too."

In a way, yes, the graduate and immigrant bade farewell. Amongst the crazy ecstatic crowd, loud with cheers and chatter, it was difficult for her to catch his attention. For thirty minutes, she called his name and tried to reach him. Due to the hundreds of people crowded together like passengers on a New York subway, the closest she could get was ten feet. Finally losing hope, she returned home late that night, broken-hearted and burdened. She spoke nothing of it, disguising her grief with the sorrow of parting with her life here.

"The bus should be here soon." The American looked at his watch. "_Really _soon." A minute after he said that, a bus pulled around the corner and slowed down at the bus stop.

"Well, ladies," Herb began in an announcer-like voice as he, his wife, and daughter grabbed their baggage and prepared to get on the bus. "Say good-bye to the old Campbell mansion."

"Charlotte!" A faint yet familiar voice called from down the street. "Charlotte, wait!" She opened the door, turned around, and slightly jumped back in surprise as seeing a face she least expected to see.

In this nasty weather with no coat and only an open black umbrella held over his head, Jeffrey dashed down the sopping sidewalks towards the bus stop. An exhilarating joy was ignored in her mind but lightly continued on as the bitterness and anger of last night's disappointment raged inside her.

The university graduate continued racing on. Charlotte shook her head and leaned from the steps. She was about to climb in when she heard, "Charlooo-aauugghhh!" and a loud pop-crack along with a moderate thud. She jumped off the steps and turned around to see Jeffrey on the sidewalk cobblestone, biting his lower lip in pain and trying not to cry out.

Herb and Jane jumped out of the bus as well and ran toward the injured young man. Charlotte followed her parents, her eyes wide in concern and shock. He came the ten miles in this weather for her?

"Lottie, help me out here!" Herb called out. Lifting Jeffrey up by the arms, the father and daughter helped him to the shaded front porch of the recently vacated house, Mrs. Campbell coaching as a nurse to the paramedic team. However, the heavy drops from the roof fell on their head and shoulders, and Charlotte retrieved the forsaken umbrella from the sidewalk.

"You alright?" Charlotte asked, holding up the umbrella over their heads.

"I'm fine." Jeffrey replied.

Mrs. Campbell felt around the swollen ankle. "I think you've sprained your ankle. No breaks or fractures." She looked up at her husband. "Love, the bus."

"We can catch another one in a few minutes." Mr. Campbell assured.

The pain in his ankle decreasing, Jeffrey spoke up."Mr. Campbell, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to have a word with your daughter." The middle-aged man nodded and took the umbrella as a shelter for him and his wife to be on the lookout for another bus.

"What do you want?" Charlotte asked, still hurt by last night. Jeffrey blinked. He had never heard her speak to him like that.

"I want to say is that I didn't see you last night."

"I was there last night right within a good range too."

"You were? I looked everywhere for you."

"I kept on calling you from at the most ten feet, and you didn't even turn around."

"I'm sorry. I really am. I really did try, Charlotte."

"I understand." Her eyes turned toward the streets for any sign.

"Charlotte, whether you forgive me or not, what I really wanted to say in the first place was what I wanted to tell you last night once I found you. I wanted to ask you something." The young man gulped nervously. "Wi...will you marry me?"

Charlotte's eyes grew wide, and her heart dropped as almost did her mouth. She turned her face towards his.

"Charlotte, please listen. I'm not doing this because I'm desperate. Out of all the people in my dance classes, you have been the most influential. Not Bernadette Marks or Mary Rogers or any of the people who continued onto the Ph.D. courses. You've shown me that the American people aren't all a brassy, rude race. Out of anyone I know, I couldn't think of one person to give the privilege of—"

His heart sank; he really did it now. She was bent over with fingers pressing against her scalp and hair falling into her lap, hiding her expression.

"All I can really, really say now is," He stuttered, "no matter what comes between us, I will love you…always. I wish you the happiness of the world. Even if we never see each other again, I'll never forget you. I could never forget you," All hope was lost now as leaned against the porch step to get up.

Charlotte looked up and brushed away a few blond locks from her face. She took his hand before he could leave. He turned around apprehensively.

"More than anything else," She began before letting out a laugh. "I love you, Jeff, and yes, I forgive you. And sit yourself back down."

"Bus!" Mr. Campbell called.

"This is it?" Jeffrey asked.

"This is it." Charlotte answered. "But we're taking you home first. Besides we have to get past Watford to get to London."

The Campbells loaded the three suitcases and the temporary invalid into the bus.

"I almost forgot something." Jeffrey said once the bus hit the city limits of Watford. "He pulled the small box out of the pocket. "Madam,…" She offered him her left hand. He gently held it as he slipped the ring onto her ring finger.

Once arriving at the Hawkinson household, Mr. Campbell and Charlotte helped Jeffrey up the steps and knocked on the door. Mrs. Hawkinson opened the door.

"Goodness!" She exclaimed looking down at her son's ankle. "Let's get you inside." She turned to the Campbells after she helped them settle Jeffrey on the parlor sofa. "Thank you so much."

"Did he do it?" A voice called from upstairs.

"Look who's home." Mrs. Hawkinson said, smiled yet a little embarrassed.

"You're welcome, ma'am." Mr. Campbell nodded. "I wish Charlotte could stay longer, but we're running a little behind. So, I'm saying good-bye. I guess we'll see you again about a month before the wedding day."

"Thanks for everything." Charlotte hugged her mother-in-law-to-be goodbye. She turned to her fiancé and kissed him on the cheek. "Heal up soon, okay?"

"Alright. We'll save the real kisses for the day. Farewell, love." Jeffrey hugged her farewell and Mrs. Hawkinson saw them through the front door and on their way home.

"You did it!" Amelia cheered, running down the stairs with an armload of books from his room. She dropped them on the coffee table next to him, some falling off the sides with a loud _thump!_. "Let's see how you like it now. Oh glory, I can't believe you did it!

"_Strangers in the niiiiigghhht,_

_ "Exchanging glances,_

_ "Wanderin' in the niiiiigghhht,_

_ "What were the chances,_

_ "We'd be sharin' looovve, _

_ "Before the night was throooouuuuggghhhh?" _

The obnoxious serenading echoed through the house as well as the exaggerated waltzing, making it hard for her brother to concentrate on one of his scientific books and her mother to focus on cooking a casserole.

"Tell me, Amelia. Do things ever change?" He finally asked, feeling ready to tear apart the book.

_"…We've been togetherrr,_

_ "Lovers at first si-hight,_

_ "In love foreverrr,_

_ "It turned out so riiiigghht,"_

She turned to him with a smug devilish smile on her lips. "No."

_"For strangers iiinnn the niiiiiigggggghhhhht." _

**I can't believe I made it this far! (screams and does happy dance) I've got some writer's block to conquer for my other stories, so it may take a while before this gets updated again. **


	20. Letters

** Omigoodness, everybody, I'm so sorry. If it weren't for writer's block, an anime-addict sister, videogame-addict cousins, and being busy with Christmas, I would've had this up sooner. Even still, this was quite the chapter to write. **

**As the title put it, this chap is a series of letters. **_**Italics **_**will be for Charlotte, and regular bold will be for Jeff. **

_Monday, June 22_

_Dear Jeff, _

_ Greetings from the Campbell Castle of the USA! (as my dad would put it) _

_ Made it home safely! I would've let you known sooner, sorry about that. Landed in New York City late at night, and I mean really late. My folks and I said hello to our new house only a few days ago along with unpacking and making it a home. It's not as big and grand as the one I showed you last summer. My guess is that it'll go from cramped to roomy once I move out; I sent you some pictures. Right now, it's good-bye Greenwich-England-time, hello jetlag. _

_ I've only told a few people, for example my dad's family and my pals, about my engagement. And my goodness, everyone who knows about it over here in New Hope has wedding jitters. _

_ I've only been away for a week and yet I miss you, your family, and the world over in England. I left it behind but the good news is I'll be returning soon. _

_ And of the wedding, when would you like it? Personally I don't want it to be soon but not have to wait for a year from now. Any ideas?_

_ Everyone here says hi. Hoping to hear from you soon._

_ All my love, Charlotte_

**Wednesday, July 1****st**

** My darling,**

** The news that you arrived in America safely has made me happy. The wall between us called the Atlantic has allowed your letter to me to arrive about a week after you sent it, so this will probably never reach you until around the tenth of this month. **

** If anyone here in England has jitters about the wedding, Amelia is a definite first. Ever since you left she's been all over it, making plans as if it were her wedding. If I ever tried telling her that, she'd resent me for the rest of the day. As one of her greatest vows is to never marry, it's one of her greatest goals to "marry" her siblings off. Yet still, by Aristotle's stones, is she beaming. I haven't seen her like this since Cecil, my sister Mildred's son, was born (he'll be six this November). **

** Everything's fine, I suppose. My parents are quite happy, I think. I know my dad doesn't express his emotions a lot, but one can always count on my mum for her feelings toward some event in her life. **

** About our wedding, my love, the date should come first and foremost before anything else can be decided. I know Mildred and her husband Nathan married barely five months after their engagement began. Harold and Allison married seven months after theirs. As for my parents, they married a month after theirs. At an average of having not too much or not too little time, I'd say sometime between late November and mid-January. **

** I miss you so much, Charlotte, and am anticipating the day you come back. I love you more than anything on earth. Please write back soon. **

** Yours every-truly, Jeffrey**

_Thursday, July 9__th_

_Jeff, my all in all,_

_ Two weeks sure fly when it comes to school and everyday life, but not when it comes to mail, I'll say that much. Believe me, I can't wait to return to England. _

_ How's home you may ask? Hot with a capital 'H'. We almost hit 100°F (55.56°C) last weekend. Even though the temperature drops at night, it's still hot. It's not so bad in August when we were there last year, so we missed it. _

_ So due to that, once or twice a week, my parents, I, and sometimes a pal or two take a drive to the countryside. And that's where I am right now. It's still hot but wonderful. I've come out here for the past several years. Being out there when I was three with Joseph giving me a piggy-back ride was one of the first things I remember. _

_ The average of the date of the big day you wrote about sounds very good. I wonder if sometime mid-December will work out, like the third week of the month: the 13__th__ to the 19__th__. _

_ As you may already know, I'm an only child and a daughter as well, so my dad might want to seize the day when he gives me away. Depending on what we [my family and I] have and the amount of people coming, we should be able to a not too small but not too big wedding. Even still, I don't expect to have the wedding of the century. And I'm sure you don't either. _

_ Missing you very much. And I love you too, all the way to heaven and back again, to infinity and beyond._

_ Yours 'til the end of time, Charlotte _

**Saturday, July 18****th**

**Mon chere, **

** I don't blame you about your first paragraph in your most recent letter. It's the first in a while that time for once doesn't fly. One of Amelia's jobs at home is to check the mail, and whenever a letter from you arrives, she yells my name at the top of her lungs upon opening the door. Hopefully time will fly someday soon.**

** New Hope sounds as wonderful as when I left it almost a year ago (can't believe it's been that long). And don't you fret, it does get a little stuffy here in England; you probably remember that, don't you? **

** You may remember, my dearest, in my previous letter me saying that my parents married barely a month after my dad proposed to my mum. There was a reason actually for such a short engagement. And of this, I have never spoken a word to anyone outside my family, not even to Harold. **

** My parents met toward the end of their last year in high school. Upon graduation, they attended dance lessons at college to continue their studies (mainly Dad) or to learn (mainly Mum). During those short two years they became close and rather intimate. A bit too intimate, I'm afraid. A month before her nineteenth birthday, Mum found herself seven months away from having a baby. Upon hearing that his un-betrothed love was expecting his child, Dad gave a proposal as soon as he could. And so on August 29****th****, 1929 they married, all in perfect timing to keep their baby (Mildred) from being born outside wedlock without a trace. **

** On the week you've chosen, I believe it's a good choice. I'd say about a near weekend date. The 13****th****, a Sunday, wouldn't be good as many people in Watford attend church and according to some religious customs, it is a day of rest. Monday the 14****th**** are rather hectic with work, school, family, etcetera. Our best bet would be either Friday the 18****th**** from late afternoon to evening or Saturday the 19****th**** from noon to evening. **

** Write to me soon as I read your letters repeatedly at night. I love you. **

** Love, Jeffrey**

_ Tuesday, July 28__th_

_ My darling Jeff,_

_ I'm sorry for not writing sooner. Some relatives of my dad from Tennessee came to visit for a few days—right at the time of receiving your letter. And…well, you know the rest of the story. Between the oven-like heat of the outdoors and the bit of stuffiness inside the house, it's been busy, wild, and busy. And then, at the tail end around the last night of their visit, another family (thankfully small) came to say hello. Not related but rather the family of a dear friend whom you never met last summer: Melinda. Melinda was Joseph's girlfriend and maybe fiancé-to-be before he went off to war. She still misses him, she says, but is very happy with her husband, teenage daughter (stayed home), and their little boy. Upon hearing about our engagement, she was quite enthralled, despite the fact I was usually seen by her and Joseph's friends as Campbell's little kid sister. _

_ Her nine-year-old son, Franklin, is quite the guy. Like any typical boy, he ran around the small but very grassy yard behind the house in the dark, bug net and all. Only ten minutes before he had to leave with his parents, caught a bug and put it in a little glass container, poking holes all in a pattern on the lid. Proudly, he gave me the caged bug as a wedding present. The bug, as it turns out after looking through Joseph's old books, is a cockroach. Funny thing is I tried killing it once he left, and of all things, I couldn't. So it looks like I'm keeping my promise to him not to get rid of it. _

_ Okay, enough drabble. I'm thinking of the 18__th__, the Friday, late afternoon about 5:30. We've yet to look at anything else, and we're getting days closer (makes me excited yet nervous). Any ideas about the wedding? Does the date sound good? Can't wait to hear from you._

_ One day more! Charlotte_

**Tuesday, August 4****th****,**

** Tally ho, my dear!**

** Time still hasn't seemed to go faster. Not to say it's the dramatic eternity as some poets pronounce, but it's not the wink of an eye either. Yet still, I'm so happy to hear from you. **

** I don't know about anyone else, but I find it sweet of this Melinda to still keep in touch despite the circumstances of the war. Her son sounds like quite the chap, frolicking through grass and dirt with only the light of the moon and maybe a porch light on the hunt for insects. I was never that type of boy as children in England, as you remember, were taught to be reserved. But that didn't matter; I would still hunt insects—in books, that is. **

** The eighteenth of December at 5:30 p.m. sounds like a plan. And that means we have one hundred and forty-three days left. That number of days left until that day. Hopefully you'll be here sooner than our wedding day. Mum's sitting across from me right now as the family is in the parlor and I'm writing on top a large book. They approve well of the date since I just told them. Amelia, bless her soul, can't stop beaming. Her eyes twinkle even without the light reflecting off her glasses. She says she'll do what she can to help, the little dear.**

** I've got to get back to the world outside these letters. And I can't wait to get back into it in a few weeks.**

** All my love, Your Jeffrey**

___Wednesday, August 12__th_

_Howdy hey!_

_ My parents are quite excited now that the date is picked. The day after I told them, at the crack of day, Mum woke me up and took me on an all-day shopping spree. I almost have my wedding gown picked out. I'm sending you samples of the templates of the invitations. I've sent Allison magazine clippings of ideas for the bridesmaid dresses. I've written to her as long as I've written to you. I'll do what I can do here in America. I'm arranged to arrive in England December 1__st__. My parents will arrive a week before the wedding. _

_ I'm sorry, but I don't know what else to say. One hundred and one until we're together. One hundred and eighteen days until we're together forever. _

_ With love, Charlotte_

_ PS: Happy birthday! Wish I could be there, but I'll be there for the next one for sure!_

**Thursday, August 20****th****, **

** My dearest of dearest, **

** Thank you so much for the birthday wishes. It really brightened up my very hectic day yesterday. This birthday's turned out to be a wild but good one. And please, don't worry about having little to write. **

** You wouldn't believe where I am as I'm writing this. When you left, my sister Mildred was six months along with her third child. Well, it's half-past one. My parents are with her at the hospital since Nathan is out of town being called on business. Amelia and I were left to look after nephews Cecil and Andrew. Amelia fell asleep before any of the boys did in the attempt for bedtime. I finally succeeded at 10:30, too late for my taste. My secret? Jane Austen. Barely finished the first chapter of **_**Persuasion **_**and they dozed off.**

** Oh, joy! My parents have just come home with the word that I now have a niece (and you will too). Mildred and Nathan had already chosen some nominees before their daughter was born. And so, the new arrival's name is Bridgett Annaliese Poole, born at 11:27 p.m. on August 19****th****. I might see her in about a week when Mildred comes home. **

** Until now, I had never known a person who shares a birthday with me, I'll say that much. Mum told me Mildred said to say happy birthday and tells you now that the Hawkinsons say hello. **

** Allison and Harold are supposed to visit tomorrow to look over wedding arrangements so far. I love you, Charlotte. **

** With all my heart, Jeffrey**

** PS: One hundred and ten days left!**

_Saturday, August 29__th_

_Jeffrey Hawkinson, my eternal love, _

_ Congratulations, uncle! I like the name Mildred and Nathan chose: Bridgett Annaliese. It's cute yet pretty at the same time. Tell them my congratulations and that I can't wait to meet her. And while I'm at it tell your parents I said (belated) happy anniversary! And it's been thirty years, right? Wow! It's still hot but not as hot as it was in July. I can't believe it's almost six months since I left England. Summer flew by fast, but fall feels like it'll take some time to come and go. I wonder if something like that will happen again, you know. Maybe like waiting for a baby to come (if that day comes)._

_ Dad's trying to spend his last days with me as best as he can, especially as time is starting to run out. And so, I found a way to help time fly a bit yet slow it down. I bought a kitten from two little girls selling a litter from their grandparents' farm. It's a girl, black with white on her paws, chest and a blaze on her face and has the most adorable little meow. We all already love her, and she follows Mum everywhere (we don't know why yet). Ironically, she's been here for a week and doesn't even have a name yet. And she'll stay with my parents when I leave. I sent you some pictures. _

_ One hundred and one days left! Love you so much!_

_ With love all the way to Heaven and back again, Charlotte_

**Tuesday, September 8****th**

** My darling,**

** My parents say hello and thank you for the anniversary wishes and that they can't wait to see you again. And the kitten is admirable. I have good news, but I don't know which the better of the two is. I think I may know.**

** So last night, I met our niece Bridgett. She's only three weeks old and is one of the sweetest things I've yet to see in years. Everyone in the family agree she looks like Mildred, only with Nathan's grey eyes. It's a lovely combination. I'm sure you'll like her very much. **

** This is beyond amazing…even Mum and Amelia began to cry when they first heard this. I hope and pray Dad isn't disappointed. Some fellow (I'll never know who) found crumbled up notes in the waste baskets in the back of some classroom. Unable to understand what was written on there, he took it to the science professors, and even they had a hard understanding as well. Pardon my handwriting; my hand is literally shaking writing this. All this led towards the professors and scientists of the University of Cambridge. Two days ago, the staff of the University of Northampton found me and brought me to Cambridge. They recognized the basics of the formula and had me explain the further steps, even though they already knew. And so, I'm part of a research team. I won't find out anything until the end of this month. I've no major degree in science, only investigation, learning, and researching at home. But they're to use my title as a doctorate recipient, Dr. Jeffrey Hawkinson. **

** I will live my dreams someday this year. One hundred and eight days to go until that someday. **

** With every bit of love there was, is, and is to come, your Jeffrey**

_Thursday, September 17__th_

_ Dear Jeffrey,_

_ Again…Congratulations, doctor! Still, wowie! I doubt anyone saw something like this coming. Reading this really made my day and almost made me cry. _

_ So, my folks and I finally found a name for the kitten. Well, not officially; we just started calling her that and…you know. So she goes by Cheechonia, mainly based off of a '30s screwball comedy my parents recall watching years ago called "My Man Godfrey". I believe it was because one of the characters, a supposed "protégé" freeloader, was all he would sing while playing piano. Even still, Cheechon's a doll. _

_ I know writing hasn't been so much about the wedding anymore, which I apologize for. But don't fret; Allison and I are working at it. If it weren't for you and her, I'd have no idea what I'd be doing right now. _

_ Ninety-three more days! _

_ All my love, Charlotte_

**Wednesday, September 30****th**

** My darling Charlotte,**

** Sorry for not writing sooner. The last few days have been a bit hectic. The family became sick, so we all took care of each other. But don't worry; we're all fine. And it's alright. **

** Last Tuesday I started my duties as a scientist. Oh, how it's wonderful. Thankfully no one but the campus principal and director of the team I'm working in, Prof. Morton, know the real story. I would tell you more now, but, due to confidentiality, probably shouldn't say anything until later. I'll say this. Most of the scientists are rather surprised that I'm only a recent graduate but know so much at my age. I'm twenty-seven and they're at least in their mid-thirties up to (I believe) mid-late seventies. **

**I'm quite happy where I am now. All I need in my world is you to be even happier. I pray that the remaining seventy-nine days go by fast. **

**My love, Jeffrey**

_Thursday, October 8__th_

_ Hey!_

_ Off with the blazing heat; on with the rain. I enjoy listening to it hit the window panes, especially when it's late at night and you're the only one awake. It can keep me up sometimes or lull me to sleep at other times. Having something to think about, I'm up. _

_ I can't believe it's been a whole three months since this cycle of letters started. And I can yet can't believe I'm coming back in fifty-four days. Believe me, I can't wait for those seventy-one days to pass either, and I'm sure the last seventeen before the big day are really gonna speed time up. _

_Cheechon[ia] is really growing, even though it's only been about three weeks since we brought her home. I doubt that by the time I leave she'll be full grown. Even still, she's a doll._

_The cockroach, you may ask? I still can't kill it. Just when I think I got it, it comes to again. My parents seem to be fine with it just as long as it stays in its jar. I'm sorry I'm writing about a bug right now, but I'm just plum out of ideas of what to write. Sorry._

_I've missed you so much lately, Jeff, and I still do right now (12:30 a.m.; 5:30 a.m. your time). And I bet anything I'll get homesick here and there after we marry. But I know that I'll have something worth living for outside home, outside New Hope. Love you so much and tell everyone I said hello and loves. _

_With all my heart, Charlotte_

_PS: Seventy-one more days! _

**Sunday, October 18****th****—sixty-one days left**

**My darling,**

**Tish-tosh about being at a loss of what to write; what you've written is quite fine. Anything besides blank lines or insults are fine by me. **

**Last night, Allison and I discussed plans about the wedding when she received a letter or two from you. From what we've conversed, the church and the bridal party and whatnot, it seems like it will turn out to be a splendid wedding; all we need here is you. And it's good to know that you arrive in forty-four days left rather than in almost six months.**

** About my work at Cambridge, a month has almost passed since I started and it's still amazing. Yes, I may love dance, but this is much more thrilling than teaching a floor full of adolescents a step or two each day. I teach my colleagues but they teach me too—all at once. I can't until our wedding day—not just to show you what all I do but so much more. **

** I was afraid of what my dad would think about me being a scientist rather than a dance teacher. And…he doesn't seem to be bothered by it, thank goodness. The ladies of the family are overjoyed about it. After Allison left, Amelia came up to me and said (along the lines of), "You're really man now, Jeff…or a 'really big boy', as Andrew would put it." And so with that, I've decided to grow a mustache as crazy as it sounds. **

** These next few weeks will hopefully come and go quickly. I can't wait for your return. Thank you for all you've done in my life. I don't love you for that, but for who you are. Write soon.**

** Yours forever, Jeffrey**

_Monday, October 26__th__—fifty-three days left_

_Dearest Jeffrey,_

_I'm really excited right now. Thirty-five days and a plane or boat ride and I'm back! _

_ Don't feel awkward about telling me about a mustache. I've no hard feelings about it, and I still love you, with or without one. I don't mind all only under one condition: as long as it isn't inspired by Groucho Marx. I think you'd look good with one (not a thick greasepaint one, no). Any type that inspires? _

_ With the fact I only have a month left, Dad's giving what he can to make my last month in America an epic one. Three days ago, we got up early and took a long drive to Washington, D.C. Didn't get to see Congress (much like Parliament) in session but there was more than that to see. The Library of Congress (America's British Library) is amazing…one copy of just about every book written in the world, some so old you can't get access to it. There was so much over there we had to stay in a hotel nearby. The next day we visited the Smithsonian. Wow…I'll say that much. There's so much…five museums all put together. I know there's another museum that's part of it in New York City. Hopefully I'll see it before I go. Maybe as time goes on, there will be more museums…who knows? That's what I like yet dislike about the future. We also saw some national monuments like the Lincoln Memorial and the National Archives. Those three days flew by fast as I came back home last night. It was fabulous, and I'm sorry we weren't able to go when you were here. _

_ I can't wait to come back to England. Five weeks should fly by quickly in some way, and I'll do what I can. I love you so much. Write soon, okay?  
><em> 

_ Love, Charlotte_

** Friday, November 6****th****—forty-two days left**

** My darling,**

** I'm happy you had a wonderful time on your holiday to Washington, D.C.; it sounded wonderful. Perhaps sometime in the near future, a few years from now, we can fly to America and experience it together. Courtesy of a very sentimental uncle and aunt from my father's side, I know quite a bit about the basics of England's history. I've yet to know the basics of the histories of other nations, and it looks like the history of the United States just might be my start. **

** The mustache is progressing well, if you'd like to know. I decided to follow the style of what is called a pencil mustache, similar to Vincent Price's in **_**The Fly**_**. After not seeing Mildred and her family in nearly a month, she was very much impressed. **

** The immediate Hawkinsons, or Hawkies, gathered for dinner at my home last night. Cecil (going on six in a week) and Andrew are growing like weeds. And Bridgett, at eleven weeks, is coming along nicely. Her brothers have mixed feelings about her sometimes but seem to like it when she smiles, which she's been doing a lot lately, Mildred says. **

** With only twenty-five days until your return, the wedding jitters have finally set in, so Amelia's not the only one anymore. Meeting up with Harold and Allison is becoming less common as our wedding day draws near. I keep on forgetting to say this, but the twins, Lenora and Emily, have changed a lot since you left. Emily just started crawling and is progressing quickly. Lenora's taking her time but seems content with where she sits. **

** I can't wait for you to come back either. And neither can anyone else for that matter. This might be my second-to-last letter, which makes me more impatient. Write soon please. **

** All my love forever, Jeffrey**

_Saturday, November 14__th__—thirty-four days left_

_ My Jeff,_

_ The letter to end all letters—from me, that is. This might as well be my last letter because if I wrote you another one you'd probably receive it a few days after I arrive. Seventeen more days…I can't believe it. I've already started packing, and not only does my room but also the house look so different. _

_Another trip is scheduled for the next week starting Sunday: to New York City. There's almost as much to see there as in Washington, D.C. It's a city all on its own, the epitome of America. I haven't been there (besides leaving to and coming back from England) since a short while before I left. We'll be there for about a day, if not two. My next and final trip will be a road trip throughout Pennsylvania. I'll come home a few days before Thanksgiving, a traditional American holiday. I'll tell you everything when I see you again. Another week after that, and I'll be there in no time. _

_ My parents and I are going through boxes in the attic, all with the cat in one of our laps. My dolls, teddy bear, old photographs, my first camera and first few pictures taken, Joseph's old books and newspaper clippings, mine and Joseph's baby blankets, Photoplay magazines my friends and I kept, Joseph's letters to us during the war…so much. It's quite the mess to clean up, but we love it. I'm actually surprised they're allowing to take some of this stuff with me. _

_ I'm going to miss so much here in America so much. As December the first gets closer, I'm getting more excited. Wedding jitters are an epidemic now…if only these last few days can go by quickly. I'll meet you the day I arrive, and I'm pretty sure you know the rest of the story._

_ I love you with all my heart, Jeff. Thank you for the letters and the news, practical and impractical, you send me. And thank you for everything._

_ Until we meet again, Charlotte_

**Monday, November 23****rd****—twenty-five days left**

** My Charlotte forevermore,**

** Ten more days. Time sure did fly. I don't quite know how, but we succeeded in making it; well, almost. The last strings of the wedding are being tied. Almost everything's in place for the start of our new life.**

**Whilst the average groom has a bachelor's party a few days before the wedding, Amelia's celebrating in what little ways she can at the success of marrying me, her brother, off; for example, buying a bottle of champagne for the family every Friday before any drunks can get their hands on it. How I love my impetuous rascal of a little sister, thinking of others whilst thinking of herself.**

** Everyone seems to be happier than usual, and it's not just Bridgett anymore. Mum's more sentimental, and Dad's being more talkative too. I get more than one hug or kiss [on the cheek] from the ladies of the household nowadays.**

** Amelia looked at me last night in a way that she hasn't done in years, almost like a child. She asked, "Won't it be weird? Just me, Mum and Dad here?" **

** "Maybe…a little…for a while." I responded. "Why do you ask?"**

** She shrugged. "But whatever you do, do **_**not **_**leave her." **

** Never in eternity will I do so. No matter what, I'll always be there for you. I know one never says that until the vows are given, but I thought I should say that now. No matter what, you are my Charlotte, and no one can ever try to change that. **

** I love you so very much. May these last days be happy ones for us. **

** It just hit midnight, so now it's Tuesday the 24****th****. Twenty-four more days!**

** With love for eternity, Jeffrey **

**A/N: OMG, what a chap! This was even crazier than writing about **_**The Fly.**_** Okay, we're gettin' close now…(rubbing hand anxiously). And please, I beg of you (on hands and knees)…please read **_**The Invincible Adversary**_**; it needs some love right now. **

**Belated Merry Christmas and belated Happy Holidays, everyone. It was a good one, this 2012. And while I'm at it…HAPPY NEW YEAR! To all…from Spritzy. **


	21. December 18, 1959

**HERE WE ARE! YAYS! The moment we've been looking forward to since the relationship blossomed. I can't believe I'm here already. Wedding two out of my three, here we come! And don't fret; once I'm finished with **_**Invincible Adversary**_**, I'll go back to my other neglected fandoms. Ready? Roll film! **

~Watford, the Hawkinson household~

Jeffrey finally tied his bowtie. For the fifth time. That day had finally come, and the groom was altogether extremely nervous but remained calm for the most part. His entire tuxedo seemed to come together swimmingly all except for that dratted tie.

"Need help?" Mildred asked, dressed in a short-sleeved silk sky blue dress. She had come over for the morning to help her younger siblings get ready while their parents arranged the last little things for the wedding.

"Yes." Jeffrey replied as Mildred adjusted the tie, kicking butt with her subtle dainty hands doing the job his shaking masculine hands couldn't do. Turns out, he wasn't that far from it being done right. "Your bridesmaid dress looks very lovely this morning."

"Thanks."

He lightly pecked a kiss on her blond brow. "And Amelia, how is she coming along?"

"She's still in her nightgown."

"Oh, goodness." Jeffrey held his face in his hand.

"'Am not!" They heard Amelia shoot back. Just then, Bridgett began crying from Amelia's room.

"Maybe if you take Bridgett out of her room, she'd be a bit more focused." Mildred fetched her little daughter with Amelia following behind, in an outfit matching her sister's with curling rods in her hair. The two older siblings held back a chuckle; with the curlers and glasses on, their little sister looked like an old lady.

"It's too bad you didn't bring Cee and Andy with you." Amelia pouted, seemingly of the mild humiliation.

"Oh, you'll see them plenty more today." Mildred lightly comforted as she patted her on the back. "They'll be coming in a few minutes, so I can get him ready." She dashed down the stairs at a car horn's beep to bring in her two sons. Amelia carefully took out the rods and separated the brunette curls.

"Righto, so how much longer 'til we have to be at the church?" Amelia asked.

"Only three hours, we have to be there earlier than usual wedding." He answered, raising an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror. Meanwhile she slouched on a chair now that her brother's bed was gone and rested her chin in her hand, smugly smiling. "What?"

She gave a wicked muffled chuckle. "My mission is complete."

"What was-" He began. "Oh, yes. And why was that your mission?"

"I didn't want you and Mil to have the same fate I chose for myself. And number two: I want you both to be happy."

"You're a remarkable woman, Amelia." He bent over to kiss his sister's forehead.

"Nu-uh!" She backed away. "Save the slobber for the bride. What? Don't!" Still, he persisted and finally managed to give that final little peck.

~Bedford, the Weaver household~

"You'll be fine, darling, just relax," Her mother reassured her as Charlotte slipped into a white wedding gown. The top of the gown was a fine silk and had a collar with a horizontal oval shape that draped a little below her collarbone and stopped before her shoulders. The sleeves were somewhat sheer (to keep of mind for the cold weather), covered with thin lace and reached to her wrists. The silk and laced skirt reached the bottom and was lightly poofed. Her blonde hair spilled down her back in thick large curls rather than her traditional waves under a veil that reached her waist, and her lips had been covered in a light shade of red lipstick. Like her fiancée, the bride was nervous as can nervous could get.

Seventeen days beforehand, Jeffrey, Harold, and Allison awaited her arrival and were overjoyed to see her after six months of being apart. And so, ever since then, Charlotte had been staying at Harold and Allison's home, a little house in Bedford, finishing up the final of final details for this day. Happily, the twins seemed to remember their adopted auntie. Two weeks later, her parents flew in and were staying in a hotel nearby.

"Can he come in?" Mrs. Campbell asked her daughter. Charlotte nodded.

"Oh, my beautiful Lottie." Mr. Campbell beamed with pride after he opened the door. He pulled her into a hug and didn't want to let go. She savored the warm, secure feeling around her like she always had all her life. Her smile faded however.

"Do you think I'm letting you down?" Charlotte asked.

"What makes you say that, Charlotte?" Mrs. Campbell remarked as Mr. Campbell let go of their only child.

"Well, you'll be all alone. Joseph's dead for instance and I'll be thousands of miles away from you and New Hope. We won't be there with you. Who's gonna take care of you when you grow old?"

"Lottie," He pressed his index finger against her lips, absentmindedly getting the makeup on it. "You're all grown up; you're your own person now. We can't keep you forever. Now, we just want you to be happy."

"I want you to be happy too." She whispered.

"Sweetness," Mrs. Campbell said as the couple embraced their daughter. "We already are."

"Let's get you going, Lot." He winked at her and looked outside the window at the clouds and skies. "I don't know about the weather tonight, so we'd better get there before anything bad happens."

~Derby Road Baptist Church~

"So this is the place you two lovebirds picked out, eh?" Amelia asked, looking at the exterior of the church building. She whistled in exclamation. "Nice taste. Is Charlotte here yet?"

"No, not for a while." Mrs. Hawkinson answered as Mr. Hawkinson opened the door to let the family in. "But don't fret; after the bridal party makes their way through, nothing can start without her."

"Now you gotta remember," Amelia warned her big brother. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, so I'll censor things out."

"Leave that to us, young lady." Mr. Hawkinson stepped in and straightened his necktie. "You just keep your place as a bridesmaid."

Soon enough, the rest of the bridal party, the bridesmaids in a sky blue and the groomsmen in black tuxedos, made their way through the doors. They all gathered in little groups excited and chattering about what was going on.

"Well," Mr. Hawkinson chuckled a bit, looking at his wife and son. "I guess that's my cue." He bent over to give his wife a kiss. "Love you both." He turned to his son and shook his hand. "Good luck, Jeffrey." And with that, he entered into the sanctuary and formally walked to the front right pew where the Hawkinsons would sit.

"Alright," Mrs. Hawkinson looked at the seven members of the elegant troop. "You know your places in the order and you know our cue. We ready?"

The bridal party nodded or gave a quiet, "Yes, ma'am." At the first note of a stringed ensemble playing Mozart's "Ave Verum Corpus", the doors flew open and landed gracefully along the sanctuary walls.

Jeffrey linked arms with his mother and took a deep breath before they took the first graceful steps down the aisle. He stared nervously down the aisle and tried hard not to make direct eye contact with the minister at the steps of the altar. Before he knew it, it was over as he escorted his mother to the pew where his father and Bridgett waited. He kissed her on the cheek and before he could pull away, she whispered into his ear, "I love you." Giving a last smile, he took a couple steps sideways and waited alongside the minister.

Next, his best man, Harold, walked down the aisle, trying to perform the same trek down the aisle as the groom. "Daddy." One of his daughters said aloud from her Grandma Weaver's arms, which made him smile. He stopped at the altar and stood a meter away from Jeffrey.

The three men at the altar noticed a few members of the bridal party turn around in excitement, whispered a hello or a wish of good luck. _She's here. _Jeffrey theorized.

Amelia and Cecil walked down the aisle, the aunt smiling proudly and the nephew tightly but with dignity to her hand. The two separated, and everyone was proud of the way the six-year-old carried himself at this formal occasion. Mildred and Nathan linked arms and followed the same steps as their sister and son. At the end, Mildred nodded and coaxed at a distance for Andrew, the little ring bearer, to come down to his mummy and wait for the signal from the minister. Allison, the matron of honor, played the grand finale to the melancholy yet beautiful song and stood to the right of the minister. A twinkle in her green eyes made an assurance that this was going to be a wonderful ceremony, no mistakes, no flaws.

The last diminuendo notes died as a middle-aged man sat down at the bench of an organ. The first seven notes of the traditional wedding march sounded from the prestigious instrument, and everyone rose from their pew, anticipating the site of a blond-haired, brown-eyed woman in a white dress. Calmly with a relaxed subtle smile, she linked arms with her father and began the life-changing journey down the aisle. As she drew closer to her life's greatest landmark, her brown eyes lit up but waited until soon to make contact with her love's blue eyes.

Charlotte stopped before the minister and stared, seemingly assured that everything would go smoothly. The minister smiled at the couple before looking at the people about him.

"To all present I say:" He began. "We are gathered here, not to witness the beginning of what will be, but rather what already is! We do not create this marriage, because we cannot. We can and do, however, celebrate with Jeffrey and Charlotte the wondrous and joyful occurrence that has already taken place in their lives, and the commitment they make today. If anyone can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." He paused and looked down the aisles. He nodded happily. "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

"I do." Mr. Campbell muttered, trying hard not to cry as he unlocked his arm from his daughter's. Charlotte looked back and smiled at her dad, for the last time as her caregiver and guardian, before taking the steps to the altar.

"Jeffrey," The minister spoke up, looking at the young Brit sternly but gently. "Do you take Charlotte for your lawful wedded wife, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honor, comfort, and cherish her from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto her for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." Jeffrey replied.

"Charlotte," The minister turned to the American. "Do you take Jeffrey for your lawful wedded husband, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honor, comfort, and cherish him from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto him for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." Charlotte answered.

"Jeffrey, if it is your wish to be Charlotte's husband, then repeat after me."

Jeffrey turned to face Charlotte. "I, Jeffrey Hawkinson,…take thee, Charlotte Campbell,…to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward,…for better or worse,…for richer or poorer,…in sickness and in health,…to love, honor, and cherish,…'til death do us part," Charlotte beamed as he pronounced the vows; oh, how proud she was of him. "And thereto I plight thee my troth."

"Charlotte, if it is your wish to be Jeffrey's wife, then repeat after me."

"I, Charlotte Campbell,…take thee, Jeffrey Hawkinson,…to be my wedded husband," If Jeffrey were in his place as a mad scientist, he would've rubbed his hands together. But being unable to, he smiled brightly and nodded his head. "…To have and to hold from this day forward,…for better or worse,…for richer or poorer,…in sickness and in health,…to love, honor, and cherish,…'til death do us part,…and thereto I plight thee my troth."

"The rings, if you please." The minister looked at Andrew. The four-year-old boldly stepped up to the middle-aged man and lifted up the cushion. The minister smiled and lifted up Charlotte's ring. "May this ring be blessed so he who gives it and she who wears it may abide in peace, and continue in love until life's end." He handed Jeffrey the antique heirloom.

"With this ring I thee wed." He said, looking at her before looking down at the ring to slip it on her left hand. "Wear it as a symbol of our love and commitment."

"May this ring be blessed so that she who gives it and he who wears it may abide in peace, and continues in love until life's end." The minister announced, giving her the ring.

"With this ring, I thee wed." She told Jeffrey as she slid the band onto his finger. "Wear it as a symbol of our love and commitment."

"Jeffrey and Charlotte, you have given and pledged your promises to each other and have declared your everlasting love by exchanging the rings." The minister prepared for his last part in the play. "Your vows may have been spoken in minutes, but your promises to each other will last until your last breath. By this, I now pronounce you are husband and wife."

Jeffrey and Charlotte beamed with joy. After years of waiting, it was official. She wrapped her arms around her husband's neck. As he wrapped his arms around back, her brown eyes shot open wide. Charlotte glanced between a window and her husband.

"You may now seal the promises you have made for each other with a kiss."

"Did I hurt you?" Jeffrey whispered.

She shook her head, smiling ecstatically. "It's snowing."

He looked outside the thin window past her shoulders to see small flakes falling. He smiled and looked back at his wife, saying, "First snow." The snow began to fall harder as the two embraced each other in a passionate, warm kiss.

When they pulled back, everything seemed brand new. They didn't have to wait for a January the First for a fresh slate to write on; they didn't have to be born all over again; nothing had to take place. A few minutes and a kiss were all it took. They could do this over and over again if they wanted to. "Ahem." They heard the minister clear his throat. The newlyweds gave an awkward chuckle; all of a sudden they forgot where they were. They straightened up to face the crowd of witnesses.

"Dearly beloved," The minister spoke up, closing the Bible in his hand. "May I present to you Dr. and Mrs. Jeffrey Hawkinson."

The audience sat still but gave a hearty enthusiastic applause. That was until an overly ecstatic Amelia shouted, "Whoop!", ripped the corsage out of her hair and tossed it in the air like a graduate with his mortarboard; then everyone stood up to watch the bride and groom walked down the aisle to the world awaiting them.

"Everyone, attention!" Mr. Campbell called out to the people crowded together either in the foyer or the sanctuary. "May we wish the best for Jeffrey and Charlotte. That through their marriage and life together that they would have the time of their life and have that time last as long as they live." He and the bridal party held up champagne flutes filled with the bubbly liquid. "To Jeffrey and Charlotte."

"To Jeffrey and Charlotte." The people repeated as they drank to the couple.

As the multitude behind applauded and cheered for them, Jeffrey and Charlotte stepped outside the church foyer. They looked at the outside world around them…white. Everywhere it persisted against the wet the rain left and stuck to the ground, streets, roofs, vehicles, everywhere. The rest of the bridal party followed the couple formally. Cecil and Andrew held their parents' hands but pointed and stared in awe at the while flakes falling and landing everywhere they looked.

"Who needs rice?" Amelia remarked. "God's throwing down one heck of a bowl." The two women and two men chuckled at the young feminist's wisecrack. "And boy is he throwing it hard."

Like Christmases and birthdays, their wedding day was close to being come and gone—for the first _and _last time. And now, it was time to say goodbye. Harold and Nathan gave Jeffrey a pat on the back and a one-armed hug. Mildred hugged her little brother tightly and kissed him on both cheeks. "Love you," She whispered.

"I love you too, Mildred." He whispered back. Smiling a farewell at her, he turned around only to be bombarded by Amelia in a boa constrictor-like grip. "Amelia…" He barely spoke. "I love you very much, but….oxygen, if you don't mind?"

"Fiddle sticks, Jeff." She smiled widely and squeezed even tighter, chuckling wickedly. "You're the best big brother ever." A kiss on her cheek played as the key to release his sister.

"Thank you, Amelia." He muttered, taking in a breath. "Your hair?"

"Hey! L'chaim!" She repeated the Hebrew exclamation with a devil-may-care air and ran a hand through her increasingly messy brunette mane.

"Listen, you can do that at your…" His sentence died as she shot him the evil eye. "Good-bye, Amelia." He turned to his parents.

"Well done, son." Mr. Hawkinson smiled proudly. "I wish you a happiness greater than the one your mother and I have shared for the past thirty years." He hugged his only son and turned him towards Mrs. Hawkinson. Now it was hard to say who was beaming the brightest, the groom's mother or the bride?

"She's wonderful for you, Jeffrey. I know she'll do the best for you. I love you so much." She stroked his face and kissed him again on the cheek.

Charlotte was sandwiched between her parents in a group hug, just like the one they gave Joseph the day he left for war. That day several years ago, the Campbells gave their first child away to his passion: his country's freedom. Today, they gave their last child away to her passion: the man of her dreams.

"I don't know what we would've done without you, Lot." Mr. Campbell told his daughter, trying hard not to cry yet tears streamed down his cheeks. "You've given us the time of our lives, now we're letting you have one of your own."

"And let it be a lifetime." Mrs. Campbell added, giving her only daughter a final goodbye kiss. "Go on."

"Love you both so much." Charlotte said under her breath before leaving them behind.

She looked over at Jeffrey. This man would be forever hers and hers alone. The stars in the night skies were hidden by thick white clouds and could not sparkle, but his blue eyes sparkled with delight, joy, and love brighter than any star that night. She knew up and down for sure that she would grow to love him more as the years to come would pass.

A snow-capped taxi drove up to where the couple waited. Jeffrey opened the door for Charlotte and lifted the train of the white dress as she waved and blew goodbye kisses before sliding inside. He waved farewell to the cheering and saying-goodbyes families and friends and sat inside the taxi and closed the door.

The white little flakes melting in his hair, Jeffrey could only stare at his love. His wife. She was so beautiful, even as she gazed at the snowfall with a child's gleam in those light brown eyes. The taxi switched from sitting alongside a sidewalk to driving away from the church, breaking part of her dreamlike focus on the winter wonderland. She turned around and smiled, slightly blushing. "Hey, you." She said under her breath.

"Hello." He greeted back quietly. After saying nothing for a few seconds, she started giggling. "What?" He asked.

"You're acting like you've never seen me before, like we just met." She replied, the befuddled smile still on her face.

"Really?" He cocked his head.

"Then again,…" She pondered, squinting her eyes in deep thought. "You've just met someone."

"Who?"

"Charlotte Hawkinson."

He chuckled back before saying, "Charlotte Hawkinson...hm…I like the sound of that."

"Me too." She nodded her head as he pulled her into another embraced kiss.

**Man, what's wrong with me? When I started writing for FFN, getting to 1,000 words was a challenge. Now I'm flying through 2,000 words like no prob…yet even, I…wrote…a…wedding…I WROTE A WEDDING! **


End file.
